"Well, a thousand will do—now—there's something you can do for me later."
"I thought so," said the boy, and in truth the scale of operations was a little low for the splendid MacAllister. "But it can't be done," he went on, "I'm strapped. I can't get more than five hundred."
"You could fix a check."
"That isn't being done this season, MacAllister, at least I've never done it yet. But I'll get the five hundred somehow."
"On account?"
"All right, on account, I won't say how large, but tell me why all this 'speshul scenery? Signaling with pebbles on window an' everything—like some ham Belasco staging a ten-twenty-thirt' in Troy?"
"Oh, I just wanted to impress you a bit."
"Well, you didn't, not-one-little-bit!"
"Might better have tried it on the other, eh, Phil?"
"Who'd you mean?"
"The heart of oak, back there on the beach, with the girl."
"How did you know? But, thanks, I can handle him myself."
"Can you?" The intonation held the slightest of innuendoes.
"Why not?" Still there was a look of alarm on the features that would have made such a wonderful model for an "ad" artist.
The opportunity came a quarter of an hour later, in front of Tom Grogan's, as they came hard on the heels of Ben
