I was a changed man, as you may imagine. Yesterday and up to this minute of this morning, I was the laugh of the locality. "F. P. A." had put in a little paragraph about me; the librettists of the running revues also had tamped in a line or two of appropriate personal reference to the Chicago vendor of beans, with two nice, new money plates packed in his jeans.
It was music to me to hear any one address me as Teverson was doing.
"You know nearly all that I do," I told him. "Maybe you've heard I've been in a little mixup with counterfeiters and others recently. I got my tip out of that."
"Who sent the tip?"
I shook my head; it was hopeless to go into the question of Jerry with him; and Teverson was not inclined to waste time impractically.
"Pipes!" he repeated. "They were going to use the pipes; that's all you knew of their method?"
