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One fair evening it so happens that I am passing the corner of Forty-Seventh and Broadway, minding my own business as a fur is wont to do, when I spy the sight of Freddy Two-Stripes leaning against a doorway talking to an elderly jaguar dame by the name of Little Miss Hitch. I should correct myself that Little Miss Hitch is talking to Freddy, and what is more he is taking it very seriously, nodding and agreeing with her, and as this happens very little it causes me to break stride and grow curious. What is perhaps most unusual is because most people consider Little Miss Hitch to be something of a pest who sells day-old newspapers and flowers that are more than somewhat past their bloom and rather tired, as the flowers she sells usually come from an unspecified but likely sepulchral source and thus one would expect them to be rather weary. Freddy Two-Stripes, who is more kind-hearted than I, passes on a little shrapnel when she comes shuffling along, bemoaning her fortune. Though some say many years ago she was a great beauty and a dancer of some renown, now she walks with one hindpaw hitched up, hence her name, Miss Hitch, to which some wag sometime adds the sobriquet 'little', likely because he does not like her and wishes her to feel small. I do not like this kind of person, but her name is already Little Miss Hitch when I meet her and there is nothing I can do about it. It is true that she was likely quite the looker in her own day and has a form that is not without its attractive elements, particularly when she has not been at the shine for a few days and has her fur tidied up, though if I give her fifty years she would have to owe me the remainder and it is unlikely that she would get a medal in the race to catch a bouquet.

As I am standing there with my jaw slightly open, Freddy Two-Stripes catches sight of me and motions me to wait, and a moment later disentangles himself from the conversation and comes over to me, his black-and-white fur set off very nicely by the type of expensive suit he prefers. "This," he says, looking at me with the green eyes that many people wish would never look at them, and for good reason, "is a problematic situation. It appears that Little Miss Hitch once has a baby, which she names Consuela, as it is a girl baby, and sends the baby away to her relatives in a little town to raise up as Miss Hitch does not think much good raising will happen while she is on Broadway. Well, in short, this baby is now not only grown up but on her way here, and furthermore she has gone and become the everloving fiancée of the son of the noble family to whom she was sent for her raising."

"This has all the makings of the type of movie which a guy is likely to see at a midnight show," I say.

"Please do not interrupt," says Freddy Two-Stripes, "for I cannot abide interrupting persons. The situation is compounded by the fact that Little Miss Hitch does a little cleaning at the Hoffmann, which as you know is on Park Avenue, and she takes it into her head to write to her baby on stationery from that place. As the noble family will not want their son to enter into an affiliation with any mere lob, she writes that she is rich and of good breeding, and lives in the Hoffmann, and her husband is of good standing in this town. There is much pride in the old gentleman, and not least for his son, but also because Consuela is brought up to be a good girl in the old country until she can see a church by daylight. It does strike me, however, that the old fellow is perhaps not so bright, for he never leaves his home town except for this once, and lives in an old house without even running water or electric lights.

"Anyway," Freddy says, "something must be done, for the young girl is daffy for the young boy, and he is daffy for her. It would distress me sorely to see another pair of broken hearts in this town, and yet I am uncertain as to how I can resolve the problem in a manner that will be satisfactory to all parties."

It is not always a good idea to suggest things to Freddy Two-Stripes, but on this occasion he seems to be seeking inspiration, and if anyone could make a daffy thing work it is him, so I feel a little more brave. "Well," I say slowly, "it seems to me that you need an aristocratic husband for Miss Hitch and an aristocratic apartment to go with them. Is there not," I add, "one of your customers who lives in the Hoffmann with his everloving wife and family, who buys your merchandise on a regular basis?"

Freddy's face expresses surprise at this suggestion. "There is," he says, "and I had forgotten this person. His name is Alexander Newbold, and he is away in the country for the weekend, but I am sure he would be interested in such an affair as this. And," adds Freddy, "not only is he much liked by the unofficial management of this town, he is obliged to me for having sold him the genuine article instead of the phonus bolonus."

Having seen Alexander Newbold myself, knowing him for a big, fat lion with a big, warm laugh, he is the type of guy that a guy of Freddy Two-Stripes' type can call up in the country whenever he wants, and indeed he gets a big aching heart from the whole situation and dashes back to town to help out. "To be honest," says he, "I would not miss this for the world, and besides it will save many questions at the Hoffmann if I am there."

I do not hear much more for the next few days as there are several important events in my own personal calendar which require me to take a trip out of town. During the course of this sojourn I encounter many old faces and several new ones whose acquaintance I am happy to make, especially my new friend Pale Rider whose place in my memory is assured forever when he comes in first at 75-1.

So it is the following Wednesday when I am once more at the corner of Forty-Seventh and Broadway, thinking about nothing in particular, when Spots Marrakesh grabs my arm and hisses into my ear that he is looking for me, on the account of Freddy Two-Stripes. "Where have you been?" he says. "There is an affair currently in progress at the Hoffmann, at which your attendance is more than recommended, and to which you should hurry with all expedience." At this instant that I remember the affair of Little Miss Hitch and the everloving young couple of which her little daughter Consuela is a part. "I have been looking for you to take you there," Spots says. It is a point of particular pride that when Spots Marrakesh is sent to find someone, he finds them, even if they have no desire to be found.

A minute later I am at my pad to change into duds appropriate to a polite reception at the Hoffmann. Ten minutes after that I am within the portals of that august establishment and riding the elevator up to the floor on which Alexander Newbold's apartment may be found. It is not hard to find as the door is open and the sound of much joyous revelry comes from inside. At the door is Pink-Eyes, the doorman from Freddy Two-Stripes' Roaring 20s Club, and further more Pink-Eyes is in uniform and standing stiffly. He raps not to me when I offer a hello, but merely takes my hat and coat. The next thing I see is Alexander Newbold himself in fine evening clothes, and the moment he sees me he yells out a name of high renown and august nature. Not being that person I begin to remonstrate with him, but he whispers to me like this: "Look, we must have big names here, so that the noble family will see what good people her mother is, and what a big shot to get such names to her party."

He takes me over to a group of people in one corner of the room and introduces me by the same name. In a moment I am shaking hands with the noble gentleman and his wife, and their son, and Little Miss Hitch and her all-grown-up girl-baby, and her 'husband,' who turns out to be Professor William P. Faraday in a swallowtail. Professor William P. Faraday is not in fact a professor but merely sounds like one, mostly by talking slow and thoughtful and using long, confusing words which many people do not understand, and his main occupation as far as I have been able to discern is being curly with a pool cue. What is most stunning is that anyone looking at Little Miss Hitch, in her black dress and diamonds, which I later learn are on loan from Miss Fifi Jane Quinn, also known as Freddy Two-Stripes' everloving wife, her fur brushed and shiny and her blue eyes so clear, would bet you all the dead presidents you like that she never sleeps in a basement in Tenth Avenue and drinks shine by the tubful. She is almost as pretty as her baby, Consuela, who is in a white dress, and she is so pretty that nobody can really blame Professor William P. Faraday for copping a kiss now and then.

Well, Alexander Newbold is all the time announcing new names. 'Mister William Vanderbilt' turns out to be Spots Marrakesh, who looks surprisingly good in evening clothes. 'Mister Otto Kahn' is Baltimore Brown, 'Mister Al Jolson' has a surprising resemblance to Donny Trifecta from the Half Moon Club and who looks as much like Al Jolson as I do, which is to say not at all. Of course the noble gentleman and his wife seem all very interested in this, though Little Miss Hitch and Professor William P. Faraday are jerry to events and the young couple have no attention for anything but each other. As the evening wears on numerous other acquaintances arrive and are announced in similar manner, but when Big Eagle Hancroft arrives and is announced as the Vice-President of the country, I feel things have gone too far. My opinion does not change when Freddy Two-Stripes, who is running around organising things, removes a rod from Big Eagle Hancroft's pocket and reminds him that this is a social occasion and rods are not welcome.

By around midnight the grape has been flowing for a while, and it is good grape, not any phonus bolonus, and the Hep Cats, who are by manner of being one of the best bands in town and who regularly play at the Roaring 20s Club, have set up and are playing. The noble gentleman turns out to be quite a nice old skate with some surprising moves, and takes great pleasure in dancing with Consuela, his wife and even Miss Fifi Jane Quinn, which Freddy Two-Stripes does not object to on the grounds that it is a special occasion and the noble gentleman is long since married. Apart from a minor incident involving a game of craps, everything is very peaceful. It turns out that 'Grover Cleveland,' 'Warren G Harding' and 'Alfred E. Smith' got a little game going in the kitchen, when 'Calvin Coolidge' steps in and cleans them in six passes, but they soon discern that 'Calvin Coolidge' is using tops on them, which are exceedingly dishonest dice, and so they put the slug on 'Calvin Coolidge' and Freddy Two-Stripes is obliged to split them out.

By now it is getting late. I figure to say good-bye to Little Miss Hitch and Professor William P. Faraday, but when I get close I see that they are cutting up old touches in a manner that is quite something for two people their age. "I remember you," says Little Miss Hitch, gazing into the eyes of Professor William P. Faraday, "I remember you, William, oh, so well. How can I forget you? But I have no idea you recognize me after so long."

"Thirty years, now," he says. "You were so beautiful then, and you are beautiful now."

This is not the sort of conversation I wish to listen to, and so I backpedal swiftly with the intention of bidding the youngsters good-bye, at least. While I am looking for them, I run into Freddy Two-Stripes. "You will not find them here," he says. "By now they are being married over at Saint Anselm's with Spots Marrakesh and my everloving wife standing up with them. We got the licence yesterday morning. It seems like a good thing to do, as they are very much in love and away from home for the first time."

Of course, the elopement causes much astonishment for a little while, but by the next week the noble gentleman and his wife are on a train bound for the west coast to see a little more of the world, leaving us nothing to talk about but about Professor William P. Faraday and Little Miss Hitch getting married, too, and taking a powder for the mid-west where Professor William P. Faraday claims to have a long-lost brother in the electrical business who will give him a job. Personally I think Professor William P. Faraday figures to do a little booting on his own account, as I do not think he is the type to tie himself up to the electrical business.

And that is that, except that Freddy Two-Stripes is around a few days later with a large sheet of paper in his duke and very, very indignant.

"If every single item listed here is not returned to the owners of various sundry joints in the Hoffmann that they are lifted from by next Tuesday night, I will smack a lot of noses around this town," Freddy says. "I am scandalized and profoundly mortified by such occurrences taking place at a social affair of mine, and everything must be returned at once. Especially," Freddy Two-Stripes says, "the baby grand piano that is removed from Apartment 9D."