"How
dy'do, Mr. T-S? I hear our friend, Mr. Carpenter, is going--"
"Cut out dis friend stuff!" cried T-S, irritably. "He may be
yours--he ain't mine!"
I strolled up. "Hello, T-S!" I said.
"Oh, Billy! Hello!"
"So you've denied him three times!"
"Vot you mean?"
"Three times--and the cock hasn't crowed yet! That man's a prophet
for sure, T-S!"
The magnate pretended not to understand, but the deep flush on his
features gave him away.
"How dy'do, Mr. Westerly," I said. "What do you think of Mr. T-S in
the role of the first pope?"
"You mean he's going to act?" inquired the other, puzzled.
"Come off!" exclaimed Rankin, who knew better, of course.
"He's going to be St. Peter," I insisted, "and hold the keys to the
golden gate. He's planning a religious play, you know, for this
fellow Carpenter. Maybe he might cast Mr. Westerly for a part--say
Pontius Pilate."
"Ha, ha, ha!" said the secretary of our "M. and M." "Pretty good!
Ha, ha, ha! Gimme a chance at these bunk-shooters--I'll shut 'em up,
you bet!"
XXXIII
The chairman of the meeting was a man named Brown, the president of
the city's labor council.
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