“Don’t dig too deep,” says Maizie. “How about Blickens’ skating rink in Kansas City?”
“Oh!” says I. “Was it run by a gent they called Sport Blickens?”
“It was,” says she.
“Why, sure,” I goes on. “And the night I had my match there with the Pedlar, when I’d spent my last bean on a month’s trainin’ expenses, and the Pedlar’s backer was wavin’ a thousand-dollar side bet under my nose, this Mr. Blickens chucked me his roll and told me to call the bluff.”
“Yes, that was dad, all right,” says Maizie.
“It was?” says I. “Well, well! Now if there’s anything I can do for——”
“Whoa up!” says Maizie. “This is no grubstake touch. Let’s get that off our minds first, though I’m just as much obliged. It’s come out as dad said. Says he, ‘If you’re ever up against it, and can locate Shorty McCabe, you go to him and say who you are.’ But this isn’t exactly that kind of a case. Phemey and I may look a bit rocky and—— Say, how do we look, anyway? Have you got such a thing as a——”
“Tidson,” says Sadie, breakin’ in, “you may roll in the pier glass for the young lady.” Course, that reminds me I ain’t done the honors.
“Excuse me,” says I. “Miss Blickens, this is Mrs. McCabe.”
“Howdy,” says Maizie. “I was wondering if it wasn’t about due. Goshety gosh! but you’re all to the peaches, eh? And me——”