He never did seem to take to me."
Jacob rushed out in time to catch his car. The chauffeur had been
delayed by trying to light a cigarette in the wind.
"Here, Gaston, or Mike, or whatever you call yourself, scoot around the
corner quicker than blazes and see if you can see a cab. If you do, run
it down."
There was a cab in sight a block away. Gaston, or Mike, with his eyes
half shut and his mind on his cigarette, picked up the trail, neatly
crowded the cab to the curb and pocketed it.
"What t'ell you doin'?" yelled the cabman.
"Pa!" shrieked Celia.
"Grandfather's remorseful friend's agent!" said Thomas. "Wonder what's
on his conscience now."
"A thousand thunders," said Gaston, or Mike. "I have no other match."
"Young man," said old Jacob, severely, "how about that parlor maid you
were engaged to?"
A couple of years afterward old Jacob went into the office of his
private secretary.
"The Amalgamated Missionary Society solicits a contribution of $30,000
toward the conversion of the Koreans," said the secretary.
"Pass 'em up," said Jacob.
"The University of Plumville writes that its yearly endowment fund of
$50,000 that you bestowed upon it is past due.
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