When he's done that Mallory pockets the pad, leads the Baron back to his friends, shakes hands with him, motions to me, and pikes for the elevator. The last glimpse I has of Kazedky, he's bein' pulled into the private dinin'-room, with that half a roll stickin' out of his face like a bung in a beer keg.
"Well, Torchy," says Mallory to me, as the car starts down, "I got it!"
"Got what!" says I.
"Why, the contract," says he.
"Chee!" says I. "Is that all? I thought you was pullin' one of his back teeth."
CHAPTER IX
DOWN THE BUMPS WITH CLIFFY
Say, if you read in the papers to-morrow about how the Chicago Limited was run on a siding and a riot call wired back to the nearest Chief of Police, you needn't do any guessin' as to what's happened. It'll be a cinch that Clifford's gettin' in his fine work; for the last I saw of him he was headed West, and where he is there's trouble.