It was a little matter between me and Mother Sykes that starts me off to hunt a new boardin' place. Lovely old girl, Mother Sykes is, one of the kind that calls everybody "Deary" and collects in advance every Saturday night. She's got one of them inquisitive landlady noses that looks like it was made for pryin' up trunk covers and pokin' into bureau drawers. That don't bother me any, though. It's only when I misses my swell outfit, the one Benny had built for me to wear at his weddin', that I gets sore. Course, she'd only borrowed it for Pa Sykes to wear on a Sunday afternoon call, him bein' a little runt of a gent, with watery eyes and a red nose, that never does anything on his own hook. And if he hadn't denied it so brassy I shouldn't have called him down so hard, right in the front hall with half the roomers listenin'. "Dreamed it, eh, did I?" says I. "Well, listen here, Sykesy! Next time I has an optical illusion of you paradin' out in any of my uniform, there'll be doin's before the Sergeant!" Then Mother Sykes rushes up from the kitchen and saves the fam'ly honor by throwin' an indignation fit. I don't know how long it lasted; but she was gettin' purple clear up under her false front when I slid out the door and left her at it. Next day I noticed the sign hung up; but I didn't know which sky parlor was vacant until I strolls in at five-fifteen Friday night and finds my things out in the hall and a new lodger in my room. "Oh, well," says I, "what's a sudden move now and then to a free lance like me?" And as there ain't anybody in sight to register my fond farewells with, I gathers up my suitcase and laundry bag, chucks the latchkey on the stand in the front hall, and beats it. Not until I'm three blocks away does I remember that all the cash I've got in my clothes is three quarters and a dime, which comes of my listenin' to Mallory's advice about soakin' my roll away in a bloomin' savings bank. "Looks like I'd spend the night in a Mills hotel," says I, "unless I find Mallory and make a touch." It was chasin' him up that fetches me over on the West Side and through one of them nice, respectable, private-house blocks just below 14th-st. You know the kind, that begin at Fifth-ave. with a double-breasted old brownstone, and end at Sixth with a delicatessen shop. Well, I was moseyin' along quiet and peaceful, wonderin' how long since anything ever really happened in that partic'lar section, when all of a sudden I feels about a cupful of cold water strike me in the back of the neck. "Wow!" says I. "Who's playin' me for a goat now?"