say, every day in every way he's gettin' wetter and wetter!"
At this critical minute a husky voice rumbles over Jerry's shoulder:
"Kin a man make a phone call here when youse people gits done kiddin' each other?"
I straighten up haughtier than haughty itself, prepared to give this noisy newcomer frostbite with a single glance, and Jerry swings around with a growl. Then an odd thing happens. The manslaughter disappears from Jerry's eyes with comical and magical speed and is replaced by a look of awe. A nervous grin appears on his shaky lips and all of a sudden Jeremiah has no longer got a florid complexion. If I wasn't acquainted with Jerry I would think he was scared. As I am acquainted with him, I knew he was scared.
"'At's—'at's Hurricane Sherlock, the light-heavyweight champ," he says to me in a hoarse whisper, bending over the switchboard. "I—I guess I'll go and see this guy Bartlett about them, now, lemons of his!"
Exit Jerry.
"Who's that dizzy clown?" sneers the stranger and bends over himself for a good look at me.
I returned his glance with usurious interest and noted with pride that 1n two seconds flat he was attempting the difficult feat of swallowing his Adam's apple and his face was flushed a dull red. That shows
