But findin' 'Loyshy wa'n't any cinch. He'd left the Army long ago. He wa'n't in any of the fifteen-cent lodgin' houses. The police didn't have any record of him. He didn't figure in the hospital lists. The nearest anyone came to locatin' him was a handbook man the scene shifter knew, who said he'd heard of 'Loyshy hangin' around the Gravesend track summer before last; but there was no use lookin' for him there at this time of year. It wa'n't until they'd promised to advertise for Aloysius in the papers that Mother Dillon quit takin' on and agreed to wear the green silk she'd had made for Nora's chistenin'. "Yes, and what then?" says I. "Why," says Sadie, "Nora's afraid that if Aloysius doesn't turn up, her mother will spoil the party with another crying spell; and she knows if he does come, her father will throw him out." "She has a happy way of lookin' at things," says I. "Was it for this you cut out going to Rockywold?" "Of course," says Sadie. "I am to pour tea at the Dillons' on Sunday afternoon. You are to come at five, and bring Pinckney." "Ah, pickles, Sadie!" says I. "This is----" "Please, Shorty!" says she. "I've told Nora you would." "I'll put it up to Pinckney," says I, "and if he's chump enough to let himself loose in Tenth-ave. society, just to help the Dillons put it over the Bradys, I expect I'll be a mark too. But it's a dippy move." Course, I mistrusted how Pinckney would take it. He thinks he's got me on the rollers, and proceeds to shove. He hasn't heard more'n half the tale before he begins handin' me the josh about it's bein' my duty to spread sunshine wherever I can. "It's calcium the Dillons want," says I. "But I hadn't got to tellin' you about Aloysius." "What's that?" says he. "Aloysius Dillon, did you say?" "He's the one that's playin' the part of the missing prod.," says I. "What is he like?" says Pinckney, gettin' interested. "Accordin' to descriptions," says I, "he's a useless little runt, about four feet nothin' high and as wide as a match, with the temper of a striped hornet and the instincts of a yellow kyoodle. But he's his mother's pet, just the same, and if he ain't found she threatens to throw fits. Don't happen to know him, do you?" "Why," says Pinckney, "I'm not sure but I do." It looks like a jolly; but then again, you never can tell about Pinckney. He mixes around in so many sets that he's like to know 'most anybody. "Well," says I, "if you run across Aloysius at the club, tell him what's on for Sunday afternoon." "I will," says Pinckney, lettin' out a chuckle and climbin' into his cab.