Did I say anything about Primrose Park bein' a place where nothin' ever happened? Well, you can scratch that.
XI
WHEN ROSSITER CUT LOOSE
As a general thing I don't go much on looks, but I will say that I've seen handsomer specimens than Rossiter. He's got good height, and plenty of reach, with legs branchin' out just under his armpits—you know how them clothespin fellers are built—but when you finish out the combination with pop eyes and a couple of overhangin' front teeth— Well, what's the use? Rossy don't travel on his shape. He don't have to, with popper bossin' a couple of trunk lines.
When he first begun comin' to the Studio I sized him up for a soft boiled, and wondered how he could stray around town alone without havin' his shell cracked. Took me some time, too, before I fell to the fact that Rossy was wiser'n he looked; but at that he wa'n't no knowledge trust.
Just bein' good natured was Rossy's long suit. Course, he couldn't help grinnin'; his mouth is cut that way. There wa'n't any mistakin' the look in them wide set eyes of his, though. That was the real article, the genuine I'll-stand-for-anything kind. Say, you could spring any sort of a josh on Rossy, and he wouldn't squeal. He was one of your shy violets, too. Mostly he played a thinkin' part, and when he did talk, he didn't say much. After you got to know 'him real well, though, and was used to the way he looked, you couldn't help likin' Rossiter. I'd had both him and the old man as reg'lars for two or three months, and it's natural I was more or less chummy with them.
So when Rossy shows up here the other mornin' and shoves out his proposition to me, I don't think nothin' of it.
"Shorty," says he, kind of flushin' up, "I've got a favour to ask of you."
"You're welcome to use all I've got in the bank," says I.