“Hold on, Cap,” he said, coming into the shade of the passage.  “I was thinkin’ o’ comin’ to see you, when I sighted you comin’ round the corner.”

“I am glad to see you, Mr. Pennybaker,” said Arthur, taking the clumsy hand which was held out to him.

“Gettin’ pretty hot, ain’t it?” said Pennybaker, wiping his brow with his forefinger and dexterously sprinkling the floor with the proceeds of the action.

“No danger of frost, I think,” Arthur assented, admiring the dexterity of Pennybaker, but congratulating himself that the shake-hands was disposed of.

“You bet your life.  We’re going to have it just sizzling from now on.”

“Were you wishing to see me about anything in particular?” asked Farnham, who saw no other way of putting an end to a meteorological discussion which did not interest him.

“Well, yes,” answered Pennybaker, getting around beside Farnham, and gazing at the wall opposite.  “I heerd this mornin’ that Minnie Bell was goin’ to get married.  My daughter is doing some sewing for her, and it slipped out that way.  She was trying to keep it secret.  Some girls is mighty funny that way.  They will do anything to get engaged, and then they will lie like Sam Hill to make believe they ain’t.  Well, that makes a vacancy.”  He did not turn his head, but he cast a quick glance sideways at Farnham, who made no answer, and Pennybaker resumed:  “So I thought I would come to you, honor bright, and see if we couldn’t agree what to do.  That’s me.  I’m open and square like a bottle of bitters.”

Farnham gave no indication of his surprise at this burst of candor, but asked: 

“What do you propose?”

“That’s it,” said Pennybaker, promptly.  “I don’t propose nothing—­I expose.  You hear me—­I expose.”  He said this with great mystery, one eye being shut fast and the other only half open.  He perceived that he had puzzled Farnham, and enjoyed it for a moment by repeating his mot with a chuckle that did not move a muscle of his face.  “I’ll tell you the whole thing.  There’s no use, between gentlemen, of playing the thing too fine.”  He took his knife from one pocket and from another a twist of tobacco, and, cutting off a mouthful, began his story: 

“You see, me and Bud Merritt and Joe Dorman have most generally agreed on paternage, and that was all right.  You are well fixed.  You don’t want the bother of them little giblets of paternage.  We’ve ’tended to ’em for what there was in ’em and for the good of the party.  Now Bud he wants to be auditor, and he’s got Joe to go in with him, because, if he gits there, Joe’s brother-in-law, Tim Dolan, will be his debbity.  Bud is weak in the Third Ward, and he knows it, and he knows that Jake Runckel can swing that ward like a dead cat; and so they have fixed it all up to give the next vacancy to Jake for his sister.  She’s been turned out of the school for some skylarking, and weighs pretty heavy on Jake’s hands.  Very well.  That’s the game, and I’m a-kickin’!  Do you hear me?  I’m a-kickin’!”