Believe me, this job of bein' private sec. all day and doublin' as assistant Cupid after hours may be entertainin' and all that, but it ain't any drowsy detail. Don't leave you much time for restin' your heels high or framin' up peace programmes. Course, the fact that Vee is in with me on this affair between Mr. Robert and Miss Hampton is a help. I ain't overlookin' that.
And after our mix-up yachtin' cruise, when we lost a mast and Bernard Shaw overboard the same day, it looked like we'd got everything all straightened out. Why not? Mr. Robert seems to have decided that his lady-love wa'n't such a confirmed highbrow as he'd suspected, and he was doin' the steady comp'ny act constant and enthusiastic, just the way he does everything he tackles, from yacht racin' to puttin' a crimp in an independent. In fact, he wa'n't doin' much else.
"Where's Robert?" demands Old Hickory, marchin' out of his private office and glarin' at the closed roll-top.
"I expect he's takin' the afternoon off," says I, maybe grinnin' a bit.
"Huh!" says the boss. "The second this week! I thought that fool regatta was over."
"Yes, sir, it is," says I. "Besides, he didn't enter."
"Oh!" says Mr. Ellins. "Then it isn't a case of a sixty-footer!"
"The one he's tryin' to manage now is about five-foot six," says I.
"Eh?" says Old Hickory, workin' his eyebrows. "That Miss Hampton again?"
I nods.