CHAPTER XI
TEAMWORK WITH AUNTY
As Mr. Robert hangs up the desk 'phone and turns to me I catches him smotherin' a smile. "Torchy," says he, "are you a patron of the plastic art?"
"Corns, or backache?" says I.
"Not plasters," says he; "plastic; in short, sculpture."
"Never sculped a sculpin," says I. "What's the joke?"
"On the contrary," says he, "it's quite serious,—a sculptor in distress; a noble young Belgian at that, one Djickyns, in whose cause, it seems, I was rash enough to enlist at a recent dinner party. And now——" Mr. Robert waves towards his piled-up desk.
"I'd be a hot substitute along that line, wouldn't I?" says I.
"As I understand the situation," goes on Mr. Robert, "it is not a matter of giving artistic advice, but of—er—financing the said Djickyns."