"Why not?" says I. "It's still being done, ain't it?" "Oh, I suppose so. Yes, yes," he goes on, starin' at me. "But somehow, young man, I can hardly think of you as--as---- Well, congratulations, Torchy. You have frequently surprised me by rising to the occasion. Perhaps you will in this also." "Thanks, Mr. Ellins," says I. "It's nice of you to cheer me up that way." Piddie, of course, said the right and elegant thing, just as if he'd learned it out of a book. He always does, you know. Makes a reg'lar little speech, and finishes by givin' me the fraternal handclasp and a pat on the shoulder. But a minute after I caught him gazin' at me wonderin', and he goes off shakin' his head. Then I runs across my newspaper friend Whitey Weeks, who used to know me when I was a cub office-boy on the Sunday editor's door. "Well, Torchy," says he, "what you got on your mind?" "Nothing you could make copy out of," says I, "but it's a whale of an event for me." "You don't say," says he. "Somebody died and left you the business?" "Just the opposite," says I. "I don't get you," says he. "Ah, what's usually in the next column?" says I. "It's a case of somebody bein' born." "Why--why," says he, openin' his mouth, "you don't mean that----" "Uh-huh," says I, tryin' to look modest. [Illustration: "I was down on my knees doin' a buckin' bronco act, when there comes a gasp from the doorway."] "Haw-haw!" roars Whitey, usin' the steam siren effect. And, as it's right on the corner of Forty-second and Broadway, he comes near collectin' a crowd. Four or five people turn around to see what the merriment is all about, and a couple of 'em stops short in their tracks. One guy I spotted for a vaudeville artist lookin' for stuff that might fat up his act. "Say," Whitey goes on, poundin' me on the back jovial, "that's rich, that is!" "Glad it amuses you," says I, startin' to move off. "Oh, come, old chap!" says he, followin' along. "Don't get crabby. What--what is it, anyway?" "It's a baby," says I. "Quite a young one. Now go laugh your fat head off, you human hyena." With that shot I dashes through the traffic and catches a downtown car, leavin' him there with his silly face unhinged. And I did no more announcin' to anybody. I was through advertisin'. When some of the commuters on the eight-three heard the news and started springin' their comic tricks on me, I pretended I didn't understand. I don't know what they thought. I didn't give a whoop, either. I wasn't demandin' that anybody should pass solemn resolutions thankin' me for what I'd done for my country, or stand with their hats off as I went by. But I was overstocked on this joke-book junk. Maybe I didn't look like a father, or act like one; but I was doin' my best on the short notice I'd had. I will say for Vee that she stood by me noble. She seemed to think whatever I did was all right, even when I shied at holdin' the youngster for the first time.