Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1919-08-17
SUBBlNG FOR THE BOSS


self-starter. Uh-huh! That's the
way I give the hail to a new day
GRIMM and curious.
Now. some folks know Of works It
just opposite. and they may be right.
too. Mr.. Piddie. our office manager.
for instance. He's always afraid
something will happen to him. I've
heard him talk about it enough. Not
just accidents that might leave him
an ambulance case. or worse, but
anything that don't come in his reg
lar routine; little things. like forget
tin his Communication ticket, or get
tin lost in Brooklyn. or havin' his
new straw lid blow under a truck
and walkin' bareheaded a few blocks.
Say, I'll bet he won't like it in
heaven If he can't punch a time card
every mornin', or If they shift him
around much to different harp Sec
tons
While me, amt worryin' what to-
morrow will be like IL it's only some
different from yesterday. And gener-
ally it Is. Take this last little whirl
of mine. I'll admit it leaves me a
side -swiped by a passing event. Also
my pride has had a bump when I
didn't know I had such a thing. May
be that's why look so dazed.
What led up to it all was a little
squint into the past that me and old
Jic1y ;rJ tn, hnr mr.
so back. I'd been openin' the mornin'
mail. speedy and casual. as a first
class private sec. ought to do. and
sortin' it into the baskets. when l
runs across this note. which should
have been marked Personal" I'd
only glanced at the Dear Old Pal"
start and the yours to a finish. Bon
ME-" endin' when I Jugs it into the
private Office.
II expect this must have been
meant for Mr.. Robert; eh. Mr.. Ell
lins?" says I, handin' it over.
It's written sort of scrawly and
foreign on swell stationery. and Old
Hickory don't get many of that kind,
as you can guess. He reads 1t clear
through, though. without even
grunt. Then he waves me into
chair.
"As it happens, Torchy." says he,
"this was meant for no one but me-"
my error" says I. II didn't read
1t. though"
He don't seem to take much notice
of that statement, just sits there
gain vacant at the wall and fingerin'
his cigar. After a minute or so of
this he remarks, sort of to himself:
Bonnie, Ell? Well. Weir"
I might have smiled Probably l did.
for the last person in the world you'd
look for anything like mushy senti-
ments from would be Old Hickory
Ellins. Couldn't have been much more
than a flicker of a smile. at that. But
them keen old eyes OF his don't miss
much that's going on. even when he
seems to be in trance. He turns
quick and gives me one of them quiz
zin' stares.
.Funny. isn't it. son." says he. that
7 should still be called Dear Old Pal
by the most fascinating woman in the
world?''
"Oh. I don't know" says I. tryin' to
pull the diplomatic stuff easy.
"You young rascal" says he. Think
I'm no Judge, eh? Here! Wait a mo-
ment, Now let's see. UNI -m-m"
He's pullin' out first one desk draw
er and then another. Finally he digs
out a faded leather photograph case
and opens 1t.
'Therew he goes on. That's Bonnie
Sutton. What about her."
Course, her hair Is done kind OF odd
and old-fashioned, piled up on top
Of her head that way. with curl or
two behind one ear: and I expect II
much Of her costume had showed 1t
would have looked old-fashioned. too.
But wasn't much to show. for it's only
a bust view and cut of about where
tho dress begins. Besides. she's lean
in forward on her elbows. A fairly
plump party, should Judge, with
well-rounded shoulders
and kind of a big face. Something OF
q cut-up. too. should say, for she
holds her head little on one side,
her chin propped in the palm, Of the
left hand, while between the fingers,
of the right she is holdin' cigarette.
What struck me most, though. was