“Add ’em together and multiply by three,” says I, “then you’ll be warm.”

“I don’t quite get the result,” says he.

“Ever hear of an office-boy-de-luxe?” says I.  “They don’t print it on the letter-heads yet, or paint it on the ground-glass, but that’s my real label.  I’m the only one in New York, too.”

Mr. Quinn chuckles and goes off shakin’ his head.  I expect he’s disappointed that I’ve stuck so long in one shop without climbin’ further up the ladder.  That’s what he was always preachin’ at me, this ladder-climbin’ advice.  But say, hod carriers do that.  Me for an express elevator when the time comes.

But meanwhile, with a couple of bosses like Old Hickory Ellins and Mr. Robert, it ain’t so worse sittin’ behind the brass rail.  That’s one reason I ain’t changed.  Also there’s that little mine enterprise me and Mr. Robert’s mixed up in, which ain’t come to a head yet.

Then—­well, then, there’s Vee.  Go on—­hand me the jolly!  And if you push me to it I’ll admit I ain’t any speedy performer at this “Oh, you!” game.  Mr. Robert he thinks it’s comic, when he has the kiddin’ fit on, to remark chuckly, “Oh, I say, Torchy, have you seen Miss Vee lately?”

There’s others too, that seems to get a lot of satisfaction shootin’ the same thing at me, and they sort of snicker when I get pink in the ears.  But, say, there’s a heap of difference between pickin’ peaches from an easy chair under the tree, and when you have to shin the garden wall and reach through the barbed wire ornament on top.

Course, I ain’t comparin’ anything—­but there’s Aunty.  Dear old girl!  Square as a brick, and about as yieldin’; good as gold too, but worth more per ounce than any coined at the mint; and as foxy in the mind as a corporation lawyer arguin’ before the Rapid Transit Commission.  Also I’m as welcome to Aunty’s eyesight as Eugene V. Debs would be at the Union League Club—­just about.  That ain’t any idle rumor, either, nor something that was hinted to me casual.  It’s first-hand information, hot off the bat.

“Boy,” says she, glarin’ at me through her gold lorgnette like I was some kind of insect specimen, “do I understand that you come here to see my niece?”

“Well,” says I, “there’s you and her—­guess!”

“Humph!” she snorts indignant.  “Then I wish you to know that your visits are most unwelcome.  Is that quite clear?”

“I get the outline,” says I.  “But, you see——­”

“No qualifications, absolutely none!” says she.  “Good afternoon, young man.  I shall not expect you to return.”

“Oh, well, in that case,” says I, sidlin’ off, “why—­I—­I think I’ll be goin’.”

It was a smear, that’s all.  I felt about as thick through as a Saratoga chip, and not half so crisp.  Encouragin’ finish for an afternoon call that I’d been bracin’ myself up to for weeks, wa’n’t it?  And from all I can gather from a couple of sketchy notes Vee gets about the same line of advice handed her.  So there was a debate between her and Aunty.  For I expect nobody can lay the law down flat to Vee without strikin’ a few sparks from them big gray eyes.