United States or Iraq ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !


We'll bear watchin'. And Piddie's idea of earnin' his salary is to be right there with the restless eye from 8:43 until 5:02, when he grabs his trusty commutation ticket and starts for the wilds of Jersey, leavin' the force to a whole night of idleness and wicked ways. Still, I am a little surprised when he picks out Vincent.

"Very well," Hartley throws over his shoulder. "Have it that way if you like." Which is where I gets Piddie's goat still further on the rampage by lettin' out a chuckle. "The young whipper-snapper!" growls Piddie. "Oh, all of that!" says I. "What you going to do besides fire him? Couldn't have him indicted under the Lever act, could you?" Piddie just glares and stalks off.

He's mostly up and down, Piddie is, like he'd been pulled out of a bundle of laths, and he's got one of these inquisitive noses that's sharp enough to file bills on. Refined conversation is Piddie's strong hold. It bubbles out of him like steam out of the oatmeal kettle. Sounds that way, too.

"Wot then?" Right under Piddie's nose he fixes it up too, and waits while I takes the phony message in to Mr. Robert. It wa'n't such a raw one, either; not as if it had sent him off to wait at some hotel. "Will try to get around about two-thirty Trimble," was all it said. And how did we know Trimble wouldn't try, anyway? "That settles it," says Mr. Robert, crumplin' the yellow sheet.

"Don't I det my new s'oes?" says Hemmy. There was a proposition for you! The kid was runnin' true to form and stickin' to the main line. No side issues for him! Pop might be a big man, and all that; but his size didn't cut much ice alongside of the new-shoes prospect. Things was beginnin' to look squally, and Mrs. Piddie's mouth corners was saggin' some, when I has a thought.

"Yes, madam," says Old Hickory, indulgin' in one of them grim smiles of his, "I rather think he does." "Ah-h-h!" says she. Another quick hug for Vincent, a happy smile tossed at Old Hickory, and she has tripped out. For a minute or so all you could hear in the private office was Piddie's heart beatin' on his ribs, or maybe it was his knees knockin' together.

I'm everybody's slave in general, and Piddie's football in particular. You know head office boy of the Corrugated Trust. That's description enough, ain't it? And I'd been there so long Honest, when I first went on the job I used to sneak the city directory under the chair so my toes could touch. Now my knees rub the under-side of the desk. Familiar with the place?

I sure would be busy if I did more, for here in the Corrugated general offices we have fifteen or twenty more or less expert key pounders most of the time. Besides, it's Mr. Piddie's job to worry over 'em, and believe me he does it thorough. But somehow this little Miss Joyce party was different. I expect it was the baby blue tam-o'-shanter that got me noticin' her first off.

Tell 'em I said you howled around like a pup with a sore ear." Piddie turns white and gives me the glassy eye that's all. I couldn't tease a fire out of him with a box of matches. But that didn't make up for the way he'd roughed Mallory. I was still sore over it at closin' time; so I lays for Mallory and asks him why he didn't risk the job and take a crack at Piddie's jaw. He just laughs.

"Maybe this'll do as well as Pop himself," says I. "Feels like it had long green in it," and the last I heard of little Hemmy he was tellin' the elevator man about the "new s'oes" that was comin' to him. "It's a fool way to lend out coin," thinks I; "but what's the diff? That kid's got his hopes set on bein' shod to-day, and Piddie's bound to make good sometime."