“Hello, Snick!” says I. “Glad you came in,—I was just going. Hope you don’t mind my lockin’ the safe? No offense, you know.”
“Can it, Shorty,” says he. “There’s no brace coming this time.”
“Eh?” says I. “Once more with that last, and say it slower, so I can let it sink in.”
“Don’t kid,” says he. “This is straight business.”
“Oh!” says I. “Well, that does sound serious. In that case, who’s your—er——Did he come in with you?”
I thought he did at first; but he seems so little int’rested in either Snick or me that I wa’n’t sure but he just wandered in because he saw the door open. He’s a high, well built, fairly good lookin’ chap, dressed neat and quiet in black; and if it wa’n’t for the sort of aimless, wanderin’ look in his eyes, you might have suspected he was somebody in partic’lar.
“Oh, him!” says Snick, shootin’ a careless glance over his shoulder. “Yes, of course he’s with me. It’s him I want to talk to you about.”
“Well,” says I, “don’t he—er——Is it a dummy, or a live one? Got a name, ain’t it?”
“Why, sure!” says Snick. “That’s Hermy. Hey you, Hermy, shake hands with Professor McCabe!”
“Howdy,” says I, makin’ ready to pass the grip. But Hermy ain’t in a sociable mood, it seems.