“Reckons yo’ ain’t so near-sighted as dem glasses ’ceivin’ folks inter believin’, sah.”
“Where does Sniffins live, Mammy?”
“Don’ know no mo’n de daid,” scoffed Mammy.
“Where does Miss Boggs live?”
“Bress de Lawd!” exclaimed the old woman, apparently apropos of nothing.
“Guess I’ll cut out the stroll up Mount Parnassus and look after my insurance. I’m afraid I ought to renew that premium pretty soon. Good-bye, Mammy Blairsdale. I’ll see you later.”
“Good-bye, sah! Yas, sah, reckon yo’ had better see me later.”
With his package of luncheon and box of candies, and, as usual, leaving a trail of paraffin papers behind him, Forbes strolled out of the Arcade, incidentally noting that Sniffins was selecting cigars at the counter next Mammy’s. Once he was beyond the portals of the Arcade, his accustomed deliberation of air and manner fell from him, and with a muttered “I’ll learn what is back of all that or jump overboard” he sped along toward State Street at a rate which would have startled his friends had any chanced to meet him.
No one but the office boy was in Sniffins’ office.
“Where’s Mr. Sniffins?” demanded Forbes.