"Excuse me," says I to Skid; "but I guess I'll be on my way. I just thought of a date I ought to keep."
And where do you expect I brings up? At the Ellins' mansion, down on the avenue. First time I'd ever been there out of office hours; but the maid says Mr. Ellins is takin' his coffee in the lib'ry and she'd see if he'd let me in. Ah, sure he did, and we gets right down to cases.
"Remember how that assistant general manager stiff of yours fell down on that public lands deal when you sent him to Washington last month?" says I.
Old Hickory chokes some on a swallow of black coffee he's just hoisted in; but he recovers enough to nod.
"Does he get the run?" says I.
"I neglected consulting you about it, Torchy," says he; "but his resignation has been called for."
"Filled the job yet?" says I.
"Fortunately, no," says he, and I knew by the way he squints that he thought he was bein' mighty humorous. "Possibly you could recommend his successor?"
"Yep, I could," says I. "Would it help any to have some one who was son in law to a Senator?"
"That," says Old Hickory, "would depend somewhat on which Senator was his father in law."