"I'm not," says he. "That's just father's way, you know, when he suspects anything is going on that he hasn't been told about. He runs his business that way—has a big force looking into things all the time. And maybe some of them weren't busy; so he told them to look after me."
Well say! I've heard some tough things about the old man, but I never thought he'd carry a thing that far. Why, there ain't any more sportin' blood in Rossiter than you'd look for in a ribbon clerk. Outside of the little ladylike boxin' that he does with me, as a liver regulator, the most excitin' fad of his I ever heard of was collectin' picture postals.
Now, I generally fights shy of mixin' up in family affairs, but someway or other I just ached to take a hand in this. "Rossy," says I, "you're dead anxious to hand the lemon to them two sleut's; are you?"
He said he was.
"And your game's all on the straight after that, is it?" I says.
"'Pon my honour, it is," says he.
"Then count me in," says I. "I ain't never had any love for them sneak detectives, and here's where I gives 'em a whirl."
But say, they're a slippery bunch. They must have known just where we was headin', for by the time we lands on the sidewalk in front of the physical culture parlours, the man in the leadin' cab has jumped out and faded.
"He will be watching on the floor above," says Rossiter, "and the other one will stay below."
"That's the way they work it, eh?" says I. "Good! Come on in without lookin' around or lettin' 'em know you're on."