"But how?" says she.
"Just a minute," says I, lookin' her full in the eyes. "I'm playin' you to give Allston a square deal, you know."
"You can bank on that," says she. "Connie Murtha's word was always as good as government bonds. And if you can wish back that twenty thousand, I'll put a quick crimp in this prosecution."
"What could be fairer than that?" says I. "I'll be back in an hour."
It was only forty-five minutes, in fact; but Mrs. Connie was watchin' for me.
"Let's have a pair of scissors," says I, as I sheds my overcoat and produced from under one arm, where it had been buttoned up snug and tight, about the worst-lookin' doll you ever saw. I hadn't figured on Mrs. Murtha goin' huffy so sudden, either.
"You fresh young shrimp you!" she blazes out. "What's that?"
"This is Arabella," says I. "She's sufferin' from a bad case of undigested securities, and I got to amputate."
She stands by watchin' the operation suspicious and ready to lam me one on the ear, I expect. But on the way down I'd sounded Arabella's chest, and I was backin' my guess. When I found the coarse stitchin' done with heavy black thread I chuckles.
"More or less the worse for wear, Arabella, eh?" says I. "But how that youngster did hang onto her! Little Helma Allston, you know. And me offerin' to swap a brand-new two-dollar one that could open and shut its eyes! 'It's for Daddums,' I says at last, and she gives up. There! Now we're gettin' to it. No wonder Arabella was some plump!"