I'll go with you this time. Come."
Seemed too simple for words at first, me and Mr. Ellins startin' out to
hunt New York for a batty stranger in a blue flannel shirt. By
degrees, though, I got the idea. It's the competition that has stirred
him up. Likely enough, he'd have turned Rupert and his scheme down
cold if it hadn't been for that. But when Auntie crashes in, the case
is entirely different; then he's strong for it. Settin' that time-lock
jaw of his and lightin' a fresh perfecto, Old Hickory grabs his hat;
and off we go, with me trailin' along reluctant. His first move is to
hail a taxi.
"Just goin' to cruise around town casual in the hopes of spottin' him
on the fly, eh?" I asks.
"Hardly," says Mr. Ellins. "I'm not going to stand in the middle of
Broadway and whistle for him either, or throw out a hook and line and
troll. I think we will go first to Mrs. Hemmingway's, if you will
kindly give the driver the number."
He can be more brutally polite than anyone I ever saw. I wasn't
enjoyin' that ride so much, and it's a relief when we pulls up at the
curb. I offers to run in and see if Auntie is back yet, but he won't
have it.
"Just lead the way, that's all," says he.
"Oh, very well," says I.
And when Helma, the maid, has used up all her hyphenated English in
assurin' us that "Meesus" is still out, I rubs it in by shruggin' my
shoulders and glancin' knowin' at him.
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