"He's due here before long, that's a fact," says I, "but there's no tellin'. You see, there's a big deal on, and Mr. Piddie's gone downtown, and——"
"Oh!" says Mrs. Piddle, her eyes shinin'. "Then he has some important business engagement?"
You couldn't help seein' how she had it framed up,—the whole Corrugated Trust and half of Wall Street holdin' its breath while hubby, J. Hemmingway Piddie, Esq., worked his giant intellect for the good of the country.
"That's it," says I. "I couldn't say pos'tive that he'd be as late as four o'clock; but——"
"Oh! then we'll not wait," says she, "Come, Hemmingway, we must go home."
"Don't I det my new s'oes?" says Hemmy.
There was a proposition for you! The kid was runnin' true to form and stickin' to the main line. No side issues for him! Pop might be a big man, and all that; but his size didn't cut much ice alongside of the new-shoes prospect. Things was beginnin' to look squally, and Mrs. Piddie's mouth corners was saggin' some, when I has a thought.
"Hold on," says I. "Maybe he's left a note or something for you."
See what it is to have a little wad stowed away in the southwest corner of your jeans? I slips through into the main office, gets one of the typewriter girls to address an envelope to Mrs. Piddie, jams a sawbuck into it, and comes out smilin'.
"Maybe this'll do as well as Pop himself," says I. "Feels like it had long green in it," and the last I heard of little Hemmy he was tellin' the elevator man about the "new s'oes" that was comin' to him.