And the last we saw of him, after he'd turned the stock business over to Mendell & Co., he was pikin' for a west-bound train with his grip in one fist and that old accordion in the other.
J. Bayard smiles after him friendly and indulgent. "A woman in the case, I suppose?" says he.
"Uh-huh," says I. "The plumpest, cheeriest, winnin'est little body ever left unclaimed,—his description. She's the lady Mayor out there. And if I'm any judge, with them two holdin' it down, Gopher's on the map to stay."
CHAPTER IX
WHAT LINDY HAD UP HER SLEEVE
"But think of it, Shorty!" says Sadie. "What an existence!"
"There's plenty worse off than her," says I; "so what's the use?"
"I can't help it," says she. "Twenty years! No holidays, no home, no relatives: nothing but sew and mend, sew and mend—and for strangers, at that! Talk about dull gray lives—ugh!"