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You see, the smaller forest- people were all afraid to go inside that old sycamore where Fatty and Blackie were. There was no telling when the two brothers might get so hungry they would seize and eat a rabbit or a squirrel or a chipmunk. And you know it isn't wise to run any such risk as that. Fatty offered to cut Blackie's hair.
The guns had got the altitude of the bombers to a nicety and Tam grinned. By this time Blackie's lights were out of sight and Tam was alone. He looked down at his compass and the quivering needle now pointed to his right, which meant he was on the homeward track. He kept what he thought was a straight course, but the needle swung round so that it pointed toward him.
"Say, honest, I ain't never heard of dat guy. He must be a new one. W'ere'll I find him?" "Oh, damn! Take those proofs to Blackie!" roared the managing editor. And thus ended Blackie's enforced flight into the realms of dignity. All these things, and more, I wrote to the scandalized Norah.
And from the open door came the smell of something good. It was the smell of meat, and, in fact, was a boiled ham, which Blackie's mistress had left in a pot on the stove. Now the reason the door of the farmhouse was open was because it had been broken open by a tramp! This tramp, coming to the house to ask for something to eat and seeing that no one was at home, had broken open the door.
Housecleaning is an unco temptation to women-folk, so I keepit the news till the Sabbath sun was weel set." During this conversation James Blackie's heart had become heavy with some sad presentiment of trouble, such as arise very naturally in similar circumstances. As a poet says,
Oh, yes, that's Parker-Smith. H'm!" "What's wrong?" "Where's Tam I hope those beggars didn't catch him There he is, the devil!" Tam was doing stunts. He was side-slipping, nose-diving and looping he was, in fine, setting up all those stresses which a machine under extraordinary circumstances might have to endure. "He always does that with a new machine, sir," said Captain Blackie's companion.
One of them was that crooked eyed jasper I saw you staking to free drinks the last time I was in town." He stared straight into the smaller man's eyes, saw the colour deepen in his cheeks, shrugged his big shoulders and went to the door. Several of the men who had come back into the room looked after him curiously, then as though for explanation, into Blackie's narrowed eyes.
There is a sort of spell about the illiterate little slangy, brown Welshman. He is the presiding genius of the place. The office boys adore him. The Old Man takes his advice in selecting a new motor car; the managing editor arranges his lunch hour to suit Blackie's and they go off to the Press club together, arm in arm. It is Blackie who lends a sympathetic ear to the society editor's tale of woe.
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