I was lookin' to find Mr. Dawes located in three or four rooms and bath, but from what I could judge of the size of his ranch he must pay by acreage instead of the square foot, for he has a whole wing to himself. And as for hired help, they was standin' around in clusters, all got up in baby blue and silver, with mugs as intelligent as so many frozen codfish. Say, it would give me chillblains on the soul to have to live with that gang lookin' on! I'm shunted from one to the other, until I gets to Dawes, and he leads the way into a big room with rubber mats, punchin' bags, and all the fixin's you could think of. "Will this do?" says he. "It'll pass," says I. "And if you'll chase out that bunch of employment bureau left-overs, we'll get down to business." "But," says he, "I thought you might need some of my men to----" "I don't," says I, "and while you're mixin' it with me you won't, either." At that he shoos 'em all out and shuts the door. I opens the window so's to get in some air that ain't been strained and currycombed and scented with violets, and then we starts to throw the shot bag around. I find Fletcher is short winded and soft. He's got a bad liver and a worse heart, for five or six years' trainin' on wealthy water and pate de foie gras hasn't done him any good. Inside of ten minutes he knows just how punky he is himself, and he's ready to follow any directions I lay down. As I'm leavin', a nice, slick haired young feller calls me over and hands me an old rose tinted check. It was for five hundred and twenty. "Fifty-two minutes, professor," says he. "Oh, let that pyramid," says I, tossin' it back. Honest, I never shied so at money before, but somehow takin' that went against the grain. Maybe it was the way it was shoved at me. I'd kind of got interested in the job of puttin' Dawes on his feet, though, and Thursday I goes up for another session. Just as I steps off the elevator at his floor I hears a scuffle, and out comes a couple of the baby blue bunch, shoving along an old party with her bonnet tilted over one ear. I gets a view of her face, though, and I sees she's a nice, decent lookin' old girl, that don't seem to be either tanked or batty, but just kind of scared. A Willie boy in a frock coat was followin' along behind, and as they gets to me he steps up, grabs her by the arm, and snaps out: "Now you leave quietly, or I'll hand you over to the police! Understand?" That scares her worse than ever, and she rolls her eyes up to me in that pleadin' way a dog has when he's been hurt. "Hear that?" says one of the baby blues, shakin' her up. My fingers went into bunches as sudden as if I'd touched a live wire, but I keeps my arms down. "Ah, say!" says I. "I don't see any call for the station-house drag out just yet. Loosen up there a bit, will you?" "Mind your business!" says one of 'em, givin' me the glary eye.