"Very well," says she. "I am glad to hear it. And you have rather an intelligent appearance."

"Mostly bluff, though," says I. "You mustn't bank too much on looks."

"Ah, but I can tell!" says she, noddin' her head and squintin' shrewd.

"You have a kind face too."

"Ye-e-es?" says I. "But what's this cue for?"

"I will tell you, Boy," says she, comin' up confidential. "You see, I must trust someone in this matter. And you will be right here, where you can see him every day, won't you--my son Mortimer, I mean?"

"I expect I'll have to," says I, "if he sticks."

"Then you must do this for me," she goes on. "Keep close to him. Make yourself his friend."

"Me?" says I. "Well, there might be some trouble about that."

"I understand," says she. "It will be difficult, under the circ.u.mstances. And Mortimer has such a proud, reserved nature! He has always been that way. But now that he is thrown upon his own resources, and if you could once gain his confidence, he might allow you to--well, you'll try, won't you? And then I shall depend upon you to send word to me once every week as to how he looks, if he seems happy, how he is getting on in business, and so on. Come, do you promise?"

"Is this a case of philanthropy, or what?" says I.

"Oh, I shall see that you are well repaid," says she.

"That listens well," says I; "but it's kind of vague. Any figures, now?"

"Why--er--yes," says she, hesitatin'. "Suppose I should send you, say, five dollars for every satisfactory report?"

"Then I'm on the job," says I.

And in two minutes more she's left me the address of her London bankers, patted me condescendin' on the shoulder, and has flitted. So here I am with a brand new side line,--an a.s.signment to be friendly at so much per. Can you beat that?

It wa'n't until afterwards, either, when I'm busy throwin' on the screen pictures of how that extra five'll fat up the Sat.u.r.day pay envelope, that I remembers the exact wordin' of the contract. Five for every satisfactory report. Gee! that's different! Then here's where I got to see that Mortimer behaves, or else I lose out. And I don't waste any time plannin' the campaign. I tackles him as he strolls out thirty seconds ahead of the twelve o'clock whistle.

"After another one of them clubby lunches?" says I.

"What's that to you?" he growls.

"I'm interested, that's all," says I.

"Oh, no, you're not," says he; "you're just fresh."

"Ah, come now, Morty," says I. "This ain't no reg'lar feud we're indulgin' in, you know. Ditch the rude retort and lemme tow you to a joint where for----"

"Thanks," says Mortimer. "I prefer my own company."

"Gee! what poor taste!" says I.

And it looked like I'd gone and bugged any five-spot prospects with my first try.

So I lets Mortimer simmer for a few days, not makin' any more cracks, friendly or otherwise. I was about to hand in a blank report too, when one noon he sort of hesitates as he pa.s.ses the desk, and then stops.

"I say," he begins, "show me that cheap luncheon place you spoke of, will you?"

It's more of an order than anything else; but that only makes this sudden shift of his more amusin'. "Why, sure," says I. "Soured on the club, have you?"

"Not exactly," says he; "but--well, the fact is, Father must have forgotten to send a check for last month's bill, and I'm on the board--posted, you know."

"Then that wa'n't any funny dream of yours, eh," says I, "this club business? Which is it, Lotos or the Union League?"

"It's my frat club, of course," says Mortimer. "And I don't mind saying that it's a deucedly expensive place for me to go, even when I can sign checks for my meals. I'm always being dragged into billiards, dollar a corner, and that sort of thing. It counts up, and I--I'm running rather close to the wind just now."

"What! And you gettin' twelve?" says I. "Why, say, some supports fam'lies on that. Takes managin', though. But I'll steer you round to Max's, where for a quarter you can----"

"A quarter!" breaks in Mortimer. "But--but that's more than I have left."

"And this only Wednesday!" says I. "Gee! but you have been goin' the pace, ain't you? What is the sum total of the reserve, anyway?"

Mortimer scoops into his trousers pockets, fishin' up a silver knife, a gold cigar clipper, and seventeen cents cash.

"Well, well!" says I. "That is gettin' down to hardpan! It's breakin'

one of my business rules, but I see where I underwrite your lunch ticket for the next few days."

"You mean you're going to stake me?" says he. "But why?"

"Well, it ain't on account of your winnin' ways," says I.

"Humph!" says he. "Here! You may have this stickpin as security."

"Gwan!" says I. "I ain't no loan shark. Maybe I'm just makin' an investment in you. Come on to Max's."

I could see Mortimer's nose begin to turn up as we crowds in at a table where a couple of packers from the china store next door was doin' the sword swallowin' act. "What a noisy, messy place!" says he.

"The service ain't quite up to Louis Martin's, that's a fact," says I; "but then, there's no extra charge for the b.u.t.ter and toothpicks."

We tried the dairy lunch next time; but he don't like that much better.

Pushin' up to the coffee urn with the mob, and havin' a tongue sandwich slammed down in front of him by a grub hustler that hadn't been to a manicure lately was only a couple of the details Mortimer shies at.

"Ah, you'll soon get to overlook little things like that," says I.

Mortimer shakes his head positive. "It's the disgusting crowd one has to mingle with," says he. "Such a cheap lot of--of roughnecks!"

"Huh!" says I. "Lots of 'em are pullin' down more'n you or me. Some of 'em are almost human too."

"I don't care," says he. "I dislike to mix with them. It's bad enough at the boarding house."

"None of the aristocracy there, either?" says I.

"They're freaks, all of them," says he. "What do you think--one fellow wears an outing shirt in to dinner! Then there's an old person with gray whiskers who--well, I can't bear to watch him. The others are almost as bad."

"When you get to know the bunch you won't mind," says I.