"Dummy Kronacher," says the Rev. Sam, comin' out strong on the first word.

"Good!" says Bobbie. "Hey, Dummy? What will you take to stay here with me and do that right along?"

Dummy has just discovered a stuffed alligator that can snap its jaws and wiggle its tail. He only looks up and grins.

"I'll make it a hundred a month," says Bobbie. "Well, that's settled.

Atkins, you're fired! And say, McCabe, I must show this new man how I want this business done. You and your friend run in some other time, will you?"

"But," says Hooker, "can't you do something about those helpers? Won't you promise to----"

"No!" snaps Bobby. "I've no time to bother with such things. Atkins, show 'em out!"

Well, we went. We goes so sudden the Rev. Sam forgets about leavin' the Dummy until we're outside, and then he's for goin' back after him.

"What for?" says I. "That pair'll get along fine; they're two of a kind."

"I guess you're right," says he. "And it's something to have brought those two together. Perhaps someone will see the significance of it, some day."

Now what was he drivin' at then? You can search me. All I've been able to make out of it is that what ails the poor is poverty, and the trouble with the plutes is that they've got too much. Eh? Barney Shaw said something like that too? Well, don't let on I agree with him. He might get chesty.

CHAPTER X

MARMADUKE SLIPS ONE OVER

And you'd almost think I could accumulate enough freaks, all by myself, without havin' my friends pass theirs along, wouldn't you? Yet lemme tell you what Pinckney rung up on me.

He comes into the Studio one day towin' a party who wears brown spats and a brown ribbon to his shell rimmed eyeglasses, and leaves him planted in a chair over by the window, where he goes to rubbin' his chin with a silver-handled stick while we dive into the gym. for one of our little half-hour sessions. Leaves him there without sayin' a word, mind you, like you'd stand an umbrella in the corner!

"Who's the silent gazooks you run on the siding out front?" says I.

"Why," says Pinckney, "that's only Marmaduke."

"Only!" says I. "I should say Marmaduke was quite some of a name.

Anything behind it? He ain't a blank, is he?"

"Who, Marmaduke?" says he. "Far from it! In fact, he has a most individual personality."

"That sounds good," says I; "but does it mean anything? Who is he, anyway?"

"Ask him, Shorty, ask him," says Pinckney, and as he turns to put his coat on the hanger I gets a glimpse of that merry eye-twinkle of his.

"Go on--I'm easy," says I. "I'd look nice, wouldn't I, holdin' a perfect stranger up for his pedigree?"

"But I assure you he'd be pleased to give it," says Pinckney, "and, more than that, I want to be there to hear it myself."

"Well, you're apt to strain your ears some listenin'," says I. "This ain't my day for askin' fool questions."

You never can tell, though. We hadn't much more'n got through our mitt exercise, and Pinckney was only half into his afternoon tea uniform, when there's a 'phone call for him. And the next thing I know he's hustled into his frock coat and rushed out.

Must have been five minutes later when I fin'lly strolls into the front office, to find that mysterious Marmaduke is still holdin' down the chair and gazin' placid out onto 42d-st. It looks like he'd been forgotten and hadn't noticed the fact.

One of these long, loose jointed, languid actin' gents, Marmaduke is; the kind that can drape themselves careless and comf'table over almost any kind of furniture. He's a little pop eyed, his hair is sort of a faded tan color, and he's whopper jawed on the left side; but beyond that he didn't have any striking points of facial beauty. It's what you might call an interestin' mug, though, and it's so full of repose that it seems almost a shame to disturb him.

Someone had to notify him, though, that he'd overslept. I tried clearin'

my throat and shufflin' my feet to bring him to; but that gets no action at all. So there was nothing for it but to go over and tap him on the shoulder.

"Excuse me," says I, "but your friend has gone."

"Ah, quite so," says he, still starin' out of the window and rubbin' his chin. "'Tis a way friends have. They come, and they go. Quite so."

"Nobody's debatin' that point," says I; "but just now I wa'n't speakin'

of friends in gen'ral. I was referrin' to Pinckney. He didn't leave any word; but I suspicion he was called up by----"

"Thanks," breaks in Marmaduke. "I know. Mrs. Purdy-Pell consults him about dinner favors--tremendous trifles, to be coped with only by a trained intelligence. We meet at the club later."

"Oh, that's it, is it?" says I. "In that case, make yourself to home.

Have an evening paper?"

"Please take it away," says he. "I might be tempted to read about the beastly stock market."

"Been taking a little flyer, eh?" says I.

"What, I?" says he. "Why, I haven't enough cash to buy a decent dinner.

But everybody you meet follows the market, you know. It's a contagious disease."

"So?" says I. "Now I've been exposed a lot and haven't caught it very hard."

"Gifted of the gods!" says he.

"Eh?" says I.

"I'm Marmaduke, you know," says he.

"I've heard that much," says I.

"To him that hath ears--mufflers," says he.

"Mufflers?" says I. "I guess I must be missin' some of my cues, Mister."

"Never care," says he. "Why cry over spilt milk when one can keep a cat?"

"Look here!" says I. "Are you stringin' me, or am I stringin' you?"

"Of what use to fret the oracle?" says he. "They say silence is golden--well, I've spent mine."