That seems to rattle him more'n ever. He hangs his umbrella over one arm, peels off a brown woolen mitt, and fishes a card out of his inside pocket. "This is the--ah--Corrugated Trust Building, is it not?" says he. "It is, yes," says I; "but the place where you cash in your scalper's book ticket is down on the third floor." "Oh!" says he. "Thank you very much," and he starts to trot out. He has his hand on the knob, when a new thought comes to him. He tiptoes back to the gate, pries off one of the ear muffs, and leans over real confidential. "I didn't quite understand," says he. "Did you say Cousin Robert's was the third door?" "Chee!" says I. "Willie, take off the other one, so you can get a good healthy circulation through the belfry." The words seemed to daze him some; but he tumbled to my motions and unstoppered his south ear. "Now," says I, "what's this about your Cousin Bob? Where'd you lose him?" Watcher think, though? I gets it out of him that he's come all the way from Bubble Creek, Michigan, and is lookin' for Mr. Robert Ellins. With that I lets him through, plants him in a chair, and goes in to the boss. "Say," says I to Mr. Robert, "there's a guy, outside that's just floated in from the breakfast food belt and is callin' for Cousin Robert. Here's his card." "Why, that must be Clifford!" says he. "Then it's true, is it, the cousin business?" says I. "Certainly it is, Torchy," says he. "Why not?" "Oh, nothin'," says I. "I wouldn't have thought it, though." "It isn't at all necessary," says Mr. Robert. "Bring him in at once." "I guess I can spare him," says I. Then I goes back and taps Cousin Clifford on the shoulder. "Cliffy," says I, "you're subpoened. Push through two doors and then make yourself right to home." Course anyone's liable to have a freak cousin or so knockin' round in the background, and I s'pose it was a star play of Mr. Robert's, givin' the glad hand to this one; but if I'd found Clifford hangin' on my fam'ly tree I'd have felt like gettin' out the prunin' saw. Maybe Mr. Robert was a little miffy because I hadn't been a mind reader and played Clifford for a favorite from the start. Anyway, he jumps right in to feature him, lugs him off to the club for lunch, and does the honors joyous, just as though this was something he'd been lookin' forward to for months. I was beginnin' to think I'd made a wrong guess on Clifford, and the awful thought that maybe for once I'd talked too gay was just tricklin' through my thatch, when we gets our first bulletin. Cliffy was due back to the office about four-thirty, havin' gone off by his lonesome after lunch; but at a quarter of five he don't show up. It was near closin' time when Mr. Robert gets a 'phone call, and by the worried look I knew something was up.