are assured of a welcome and restoration to favor?” he asked, with his courteous, royal smile.
“Do I look bughouse?” answered Thomas. “Enough of the footback life for me. But will they have me again? The old lady is as fixed in her ways as a nut on a new axle.”
“My dear young man,” said the other, “she has been searching for you everywhere.”
“Great!” said Thomas. “I’m on the job. That team of dropsical dromedaries they call horses is a handicap for a first-class coachman like myself; but I’ll take the job back, sure, doc. They’re good people to be with.”
And now a change came o’er the suave countenance of the Caliph of Bagdad. He looked keenly and suspiciously at the ex-coachman.
“May I ask what your name is?” he said shortly.
“You’ve been looking for me,” said Thomas, “and don’t know my name? You’re a funny kind of sleuth. You must be one of the Central Office gumshoers. I’m Thomas McQuade, of course; and I’ve been chauffeur of the Van Smuythe elephant team for a year. They fired me a month ago for—well, doc, you saw what I did to your old owl. I went broke on booze, and when I saw the tire drop off your whiz wagon I was standing in that squad of hoboes at the Worth monument waiting for a free bed. Now, what’s the prize for the best answer to all this?”
