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"By the way, Swifty," says I, "you remember that Barton party who was in here one day?" "Mister Barton," says he reprovin'. "Say, he was a reg'lar guy, he was!" "Think so?" says I. "Think!" explodes Swifty indignant. "Ahr-r-r chee! Why, say, any bonehead could see he was a real' gent to the last tap of the gong." And, say, I didn't have the heart to break the spell.
I'm goin' to entertain a pillar of society, and a sight of that mug of yours might get him divin' through the window." "Ahr-r-r-r chee!" remarks Swifty Joe, catchin' the wink. Course, I might have got real peevish over Mr. Bayne's suspicions, and told him to go chase himself; but I'm feelin' sort of good-humored that day.
You knew what to export, and if you attended seances at Swifty Bob's you left your gold watch and your little savings at home. But a wave of anti-pugilistic feeling swept over the New York authorities. Promoters of boxing contests found themselves, to their acute disgust, raided by the police. The industry began to languish.
"You don't need to describe it," says I. "That wa'n't a marker to the way she looked at Swifty and me. But wait! We'll hand her a jolt Saturday night." Steele groans. "I wish I could By George!" he explodes. "I'd forgotten Major Ben Cutter." "What about him?" says I. "An old friend," says J. Bayard. "He's landing Saturday, from Santa Marta.
She looked equal to it, and for a minute I stands there gazin' puzzled at her and scratchin' my head. "You win," says I. "I can't have Swifty scratched up. He's too handsome. It ain't any secret I'm keepin' away from you, anyway. All Mr. Steele wants to do is to locate Josie Vernon. It's a will case, and there may be something in it for her. There! That's the whole story."
It ain't often I worry any about the outside looks of things at the joint; but somehow, with this elegant old party comin' to inspect, I was kind of hopin' the stairs had been swept and that Swifty Joe wouldn't have any of his Red Hook friends callin' on him. So I most gasps when we piles out in front of the studio and finds a mob that extends from the curb to the front door.
With the help of the waiter and the longshoreman they loads Winthrop and his friend into a taxi, and Pinckney starts with 'em for the nearest Turkish bath. The grandfather debate is adjourned for good. I was talkin' it over with Swifty Joe, who, havin' been born in County Kerry and brought up in South Brooklyn, is sore on foreigners of all kinds. Course, he sides hearty with Mr. Hubbard.
No wonder Eggy is some agitated, after bein' hauled down two flights in that fashion! "Well," says I, as Swifty stands him up in front of us. "Who are your outside friends, and why?" "My my friends?" says he. "I I don't understand. And I must protest, you know, against this manner of " "Gwan!" says I. "I'm doin' all the protestin' here.
"Ah-r-r-r, but he's a reg'lar gent!" protests Swifty, fingerin' the card. "Even so, he'll keep five minutes more, won't he?" says I. "But he he's " begins Swifty, strugglin' to connect that mighty intellect of his with his tongue. "Ah, read off the name," says I. "Is it Mayor Mitchel, Doc Wilson, or who?" "It says J. B-a-y-a-r-d Ste Steele," says Swifty. "Eh?" says I, gawpin'. "Lemme see. Him!
Persons avoided places where at any moment the festivities might be marred by an inrush of large men in blue uniforms, armed with locust sticks. And then some big-brained person suggested the club idea, which stands alone as an example of American dry humor. At once there were no boxing contests in New York; Swifty Bob and his fellows would have been shocked at the idea of such a thing.
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