"Huh!" says he. "Babes and sucklings! But I've had worse advice that has cost me a lot more. Well, I suppose an old fool like that is dangerous to have drifting around. But I don't want him here just now, either. Um-m-m! Where did you say this son of his lived?"
"Just out of Los Angeles," says I.
"All right," says Old Hickory. "Tell him he goes west Tuesday as traveling auditor to our second vice president. He'll bring up at Los Angeles about the middle of the month—and about that time it may happen that he'll be retired on full pay. But I'll keep this resignation, as a curiosity."
Now don't ask me to describe how old Dudley takes it; for when he gets the full partic'lars of the decision it near keels him over. And what part of it do you say tickles him most? That the books don't have to be juggled!
"It wasn't like Mr. Ellins to countenance an act of that sort, not in the least," says he, "and I am very glad that he has changed his mind."
"Say, Dudley," says I, "you're a wonder, you are."
And it was all I could do to keep from askin' him if he thought he owned the only bottle of ink eradicator there was in New York.
Do I know who did fix up them entries? Well, by the nervous motions of a certain party next mornin', I could give a guess.
"Piddie," says I, "if they ever get you on the stand, you want to wear interferin' pads between your knees, so they won't hear the bones rattle."