And in two minutes more she's left me the address of her London bankers, patted me condescendin' on the shoulder, and has flitted. So here I am with a brand new side line,—an assignment to be friendly at so much per. Can you beat that?
It wa'n't until afterwards, either, when I'm busy throwin' on the screen pictures of how that extra five'll fat up the Saturday pay envelope, that I remembers the exact wordin' of the contract. Five for every satisfactory report. Gee! that's different! Then here's where I got to see that Mortimer behaves, or else I lose out. And I don't waste any time plannin' the campaign. I tackles him as he strolls out thirty seconds ahead of the twelve o'clock whistle.
"After another one of them clubby lunches?" says I.
"What's that to you?" he growls.
"I'm interested, that's all," says I.
"Oh, no, you're not," says he; "you're just fresh."
"Ah, come now, Morty," says I. "This ain't no reg'lar feud we're indulgin' in, you know. Ditch the rude retort and lemme tow you to a joint where for——"
"Thanks," says Mortimer. "I prefer my own company."
"Gee! what poor taste!" says I.
And it looked like I'd gone and bugged any five-spot prospects with my first try.