"Yep," says I, "I should judge that. But if I think he's bilkin' you on this, is it my play to sit behind and chew my tongue?" "By Jove!" says Mr. Robert, his sportin' instincts comin' to the top. "You shall have your chance, Torchy. The directors shall hear your views; to-morrow, at two-thirty. You will follow Briscoe." "Let's not bill it ahead, then," says I, "if it'll be fair to spring it on him." "Quite," says Mr. Robert; "and rather more amusing, I fancy. I will arrange it." "I'd like to have old Rowley on the side lines, in case I get stuck," says I. "Oh, certainly," says he. "Bring Mr. Rowley if you wish. And if there are any preparations you would like to make----" "I got one or two," says I, startin' for the door; "so mark me off until about to-morrow noon." Busy? Well, say, a kitten with four feet stuck in the flypaper didn't have anything on me. I streaks it for Sixth-ave. and lands in Rowley's loft all out of breath. "What's up?" says he. "The case of Briscoe _et al. vs._ Rowley," says I. "It's to be threshed out before the full Corrugated board to-morrow at two-thirty. I'm the counsel for the defense." "Well, what of it?" says he. "I want to use you as Exhibit A," says I, "in case of an emergency." "All right," says he. "I'll go along if you say so." "Good!" says I. And then came the hard part. "Rowley," I goes on, "what size collar do you wear?" "But what has that to do with it?" says he. "Now don't get peeved," says I; "but you know the kind our directors are,--flossy, silk-lined old sports, most of 'em; and they're apt to size up strangers a good deal by their haberdashery. So I was wonderin' if I couldn't blow you to a neat, pleated bosom effect with attached cuffs." "Oh, I see," says Rowley, glancin' at his gray flannel workin' shirt. "Anything else?" "I don't expect you'd want to part with that face shrubbery, or have it landscaped into a Vandyke, eh?" says I. "You know they ain't wearin' the bushy kind now in supertax circles." "Would you insist on my being manicured too?" says he, chucklin' easy. "It would help," says I. "And this would be my buy all round." "That's a generous offer, Son," says he, "and I don't know how long it's been since anyone has taken so much personal interest in Old Hen Rowley. Seems nice too. I suppose I am rather a shabby old duffer to be visiting the offices of great and good corporations. Yes, I'll spruce up a bit; and if I find it costs more than I can afford--now let's see how my cash stands." With that he digs into a hip pocket and unlimbers a roll of corn-tinted kale the size of your wrist. Maybe they wa'n't all hundreds clear to the core, but that's what was on the outside. "Whiffo!" says I. "Excuse me for classin' you so near the bread line; but by your campin' in a loft, and the longshoreman's shirt, and so on----"