"The chairman of the Stock Exchange?" says I.
"Mother Leary," says he.
"Eh?" says I, gawpin'.
"A flip of fate," says he. "At my hotel I got to talking with the room clerk, and discovered that his name was Leary. It turned out that he was Aloysius, the eldest boy. Remember him, don't you?"
Seein' how I'd almost been brought up in the fam'ly when I was a kid, I couldn't deny it. Course I'd run more with Hunch than any of the other boys. We'd sold papers together, and gone into the A. D. T. at the same time. But there wasn't a Leary I didn't know all about.
"You must have boarded there too," says I. "But if I ever heard your name, it didn't stick."
"It may have been," says he, "that I was not using the Dorsett part of it just at that time. Business reasons, you understand. But the H in my name stands for Hines. What about William Hines, now?"
"Hm-m-m!" says I, starin' at him. Sure enough, that did have a familiar sound to it.
"Let's try it this way," says he: "Uncle Bill Hines."
And, say, that got me! I expect I made some gaspy motions before I managed to get out my next remark. "You—you ain't the one that left me with Mother Leary, are you?" I asks.