But what takes my eye most was his trousseau. Say! he was dressed to the minute, from the pink in his buttonhole, to the mother-of-pearl gloves; and the back of his frock coat had an in-curve such as your forty-fat sisters dream about. Why, as far as lines went, he had Jimmy Hackett and Robert Mantell on the back shelf. Oh, he was a crusher, sure!
"I have the purpose of finding Prof-fes-seur McCabby," says he, reading it off'n a card.
"If you mean McCabe," says I, "I'm discovered."
"Is it you that are also by the name of Shortee?" says he.
"Shorty for short," says I, "and P. C. D. on the end to lengthen it out—Physical Culture Director, that stands for. Now do you want my thumb-print, and a snap-shot of my family-tree?"
That seemed to stun him a little; but he revived after a minute, threw out his chest, lifted his silk lid, and says, solemn as a new notary public takin' the oath of office: "I am Baron Patchouli."
"You look it," says I. "Have a chair."
"I am," says he, gettin' a fresh start, "Baron Patchouli, of Hamstadt and Düsseldorf."
"All right," says I, "take the settee. How are all the folks at home?"
But say, there wa'n't any use tryin' to jolly him into makin' a short cut of it. He'd got his route of parade all planned out and he meant to stick by it.