"Be yourself, big boy!" I says, getting a bit steamed. "I'm busy. I have no time to play with you. If you don't behave yourself, I'll call the house detective and have you put out!"
"Lady," says my adversary, "you can't have me put out! I ain't never been put out in my life. I ain't never even been knocked off my feet!"
"Yes, yes—go on!" I says, merrily working my plugs. "And where are the jewels now?"
Hurricane Sherlock looks puzzled for a instant and then he grins.
"Say, you're quite a kidder, ain't you?" he says. "Well, I ain't no dumb Isaac either, get me? I'm Hurricane Sherlock—does that mean anything to you?"
"Not a thing!" I says deliberately. "I don't know whether you're a traffic cop or Vice-president of Chili. Do you wish to make a call or don't you?"
"I'll make that call in good time," says Hurricane, "and don't tell me you never heard of me. I'm light-heavyweight champ of the world!"
"That's your own fault," I says. "Sorry, but I can't use you."
Hurricane Sherlock stares at me like he thinks both his kind of cumbersome ears have commenced lying to him.
"You don't wish no part of me—the world's cham-
