"
"Yours truly," said Emerson, sitting down again. "It's bully of you
to put me wise. I knew there was something wrong, but I couldn't
just put my finger on it. I guess it comes by nature to know how to
wear clothes."
"Oh, I suppose," said Vuyning, with a laugh, "that my ancestors
picked up the knack while they were peddling clothes from house to
house a couple of hundred years ago. I'm told they did that."
"And mine," said Emerson, cheerfully, "were making their visits at
night, I guess, and didn't have a chance to catch on to the correct
styles."
"I tell you what," said Vuyning, whose ennui had taken wings, "I'll
take you to my tailor. He'll eliminate the mark of the beast from
your exterior. That is, if you care to go any further in the way of
expense."
"Play 'em to the ceiling," said Emerson, with a boyish smile of joy.
"I've got a roll as big around as a barrel of black-eyed peas and as
loose as the wrapper of a two-for-fiver. I don't mind telling you
that I was not touring among the Antipodes when the burglar-proof
safe of the Farmers' National Bank of Butterville, Ia., flew open
some moonless nights ago to the tune of $16,000."
"Aren't you afraid," asked Vuyning, "that I'll call a cop and hand
you over?"
"You tell me," said Emerson, coolly, "why I didn't keep them."
He laid Vuyning's pocketbook and watch--the Vuyning 100-year-old
family watch--on the table.
"Man," said Vuyning, revelling, "did you ever hear the tale Kirk
tells about the six-pound trout and the old fisherman?"
"Seems not," said Emerson, politely.
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