"You're runnin' on sked," says I. "Where to now?"
"I think your Studio would be the best place," says he, "if you don't mind."
I said I didn't, and away we goes around the corner. As we does the turn I sees another cab make a wild dash to get in front, and, takin' a peek through the back window, I spots a second one followin'.
"Are we part of a procession?" says I, pointin' 'em out to him.
He only grins and looks kind of sheepish. "That's the regular thing nowadays," says he.
"What! Tin badgers?" says I.
He nods. "They made me rather nervous at first," he says; "but after I'd been shadowed for a week or so I got used to it, and lately I've got so I would feel lost without them. To-night, though, they're rather a nuisance. I thought you might help me to throw them off the track."
"But who set 'em on?" says I.
"Oh, it's father, I suppose," says he; not grouchy mind you, but kind of tired.
"Why, Rossy!" says I. "I didn't think you was the sort that called for P. D. reports."