"Why—er—by Jove!" says Ham. "I—I wonder."
He was still standin' there, holdin' the gasoline bottle and gazin' down the basement steps, as I passed on. Course, I was mostly joshin' him. Half an hour later and I'd forgot all about it. Never gave him a thought again until this mornin' I hears Mr. Robert explode over something he's just read in the paper.
"I say, Torchy," he sings out. "You remember Ham Adams? Well, what do you think he's gone and done now?"
"Opened a correspondence school for valets?" says I.
"Married!" says Mr. Robert. "A rich widow, too; a Mrs. Grenville Hawks."
"Zippo!" says I. "Then he's passed the buck back on Nivens."
"I—er—I beg pardon?" says Mr. Robert.
"You see," says I, "Nivens kind of thought an option on her went with the place. He had Ham all counted out. But that spell of real work must have done Ham a lot of good—must have qualified him to come back. Believe me, too, he'll never be the same again."
"That, at least, is cheering," says Mr. Robert.