The Pursuit of the Hirsute Orchestra
eyed and queer, Hank. Don't my face fit me?"
Wilkins unfolded his bulky bundle of documents and jabbing one sheet with his stubby forefinger exclaimed:
"No offense meant, Pete, but I want your whiskers. There's a reward out for a man that can match these specifications. Tell me first, how long have you worn them?"
He was assured that the O'Dwyer whiskers had sprouted four years back, or just after these two had parted in Shanghai. Wilkins came at once to the point and told him:
"Forty dollars a month and keep you like a prince. A job right out of a fairy story—that's what I offer you. And I'll give you a juicy advance the minute you sign articles."
Mr. O'Dwyer narrowly eyed his friend, and was unfeeling enough to reply:
"I'm plannin' to ship aboard a bark to-morrow, and you'd better come along with me. Booze always did give you singular visions. Did you dream you'd started a mat-
