"Eh?" says I, starin'. "Me? Ah, say, Mr. Robert, I wouldn't stand any show at all mixin' it with a young husk like him. Why, after the first poke I'd be——"
"You misunderstand," says he. "That poke part I can attend to very well myself. But I want to know the worst before I start in, and if I should go up there now, feeling as I do, I—well, I might not be a very patient investigator. You see, don't you?"
"Might blow a gasket, eh?" says I. "And you want me to go up and scout around. But what if I'm caught at it—am I peddlin' soap, or what?"
"A plausible errand is just what I've been trying to invent," says he. "Can you suggest anything?"
"Why," says I, "I might go disguised as a lone bandit who'd robbed a train and was——"
"Too theatrical," objects Mr. Robert.
"Or a guy come to test the gas meter," I goes on.
"Nonsense!" says he. "No gas meters up there. Forget the disguise. They both know you, remember."
"Oh, well," says I, "if I can't wear a wig, then I expect I'll have to go as special messenger sent up with some nutty present or other,—a five-pound box of candy, or flowers, or——"
"That's it—orchids!" breaks in Mr. Robert. "Robbie expects a bunch from me about every so often. The very thing!"