"Why," says he, kind of surprised, but not half so stunned as I thought he'd be,—"why, I suppose I am."
You wouldn't have guessed it. Not that he didn't look the brother part; for he did. He went Mildred two or three inches better in height, and he had snappy black eyes and black hair like hers. The points that goes with a striped suit and the lock step was missin', though. But how you goin' to tell, in these times when our toniest fatwads is sittin' around the mahogany votin' to raise the price of chewin' gum to-day, and gettin' a free haircut to-morrow? There wa'n't any time for me to stand there guessin' whether he'd been pardoned, or had slid down the rain pipe. Somethin' had to be done, and done quick.
"Dodge in here and wait a minute," says I. "There's some word been left for you."
With that I sneaks down the side aisle and into the little cloakroom, where Mr. Robert was keepin' Benny's mind off'n what was comin' to him by makin' him count the geranium leaves in the carpet.
"Mr. Robert," says I, luggin' him off to one side, "you want to give up predictin' the future. Bill's come!"
"What Bill?" says he.
"The one from the rock pile, Brother Bill," says I.
"That's lovely!" says he.
"It's all of that," says I.
"I hope he's not wearing his uniform still," says Mr. Robert.