"In the limousine as you're drivin' down to the station," says I. "You could keep an extra outfit in the car."

"By Jove!" says Ferdy. "Then I could change again on the way home, couldn't I? And if Marjorie didn't know, she wouldn't----"

"You've surrounded the plot of the piece," says I. "Now go to it.

There's a gents' furnisher down in the arcade."

He's halfway out to the elevator before it occurs to him that he ain't responded with any grateful remarks; so back he comes to tell how much obliged he is.

"And, Torchy," he adds, "you know you haven't been out to see baby yet.

Why, you must see little Ferdinand!"

"Ye-e-es, I been meanin' to," says I, maybe not wildly enthusiastic.

"I expect he's quite a kid by this time."

"Eleven months lacking four days," says Ferdy, his face beamin'.

"Wait! I want to show you his latest picture. Really wonderful youngster, I tell you."

So I has to inspect a snapshot that Ferdy produces from his pocketbook; and, while it looks about as insignificant as most of 'em, I pumps up some gushy remarks which seem to make a hit with Ferdy.

"Couldn't you come out Sunday?" says he.

"'Fraid not," says I. "In fact, I'm booked up for quite a spell."

"Too bad," says Ferdy, "for we're almost alone now,--only Peggy and Jane--my little nieces, you know--and Miss Hemmingway, who----"

"Vee?" says I, comin' straight up on my toes. "Say, Ferdy, I think I can break away Sunday, after all. Ought to see that youngster of yours, hadn't I? Must be mighty cute by now."

"Oh, he is," says Ferdy; "but if you can't come this week----"

"Got to," says I. "'Leven months, and me never so much as chucked him under the chin once! Gee! how careless of me!"

"All right, Sunday next," says Ferdy. "We shall look for you."

That was throwin' in reverse a little sudden, I admit; but my chances of gettin' within hailin' distance of Vee ain't so many that I can afford to overlook any bets. Besides, up at Marjorie's is about the only place where I don't have to run the gauntlet goin' in, or do a slide for life comin' out. She'll shinny on my side every trip, Marjorie will--and believe me I need it all!

Looked like a special dispensation too, this bid of Ferdy's; for I wanted half an hour's private chat with Vee the worst way just then, to clear up a few things. For instance, my last two letters had come back with "Refused" scratched across the face, and I didn't know whether it was some of Aunty's fine work, or what. Anyway, it's been a couple of months now that the wires have been down between us, and I was more or less anxious to trace the break.

So Sunday afternoon don't find me missin' any suburban local. Course, Ferdy's mighty intellect ain't suggested to him anything about askin'

me out for a meal; so I has to take a chance on what time to land there. But I strikes the mat about two-thirty P. M., and the first one to show up is Marjorie, lookin' as plump and bloomin' a corn-fed Venus as ever.

"Why, Torchy!" says she, with business of surprise.

"Uh-huh," says I. "Special invite of Ferdy's to come see the heir apparent. Didn't he mention it?"

"Humph! Ferdy!" says Marjorie. "Did you ever know of him remembering anything worth while?"

"Oh, ho!" says I. "In disgrace, is he?"

"He is," says Marjorie, sniffin' scornful. "But it's nice of you to want to see baby. The dear little fellow is just taking his afternoon nap. He wakes up about four, though."

"Oh, I don't mind waitin' a bit," says I. "You know, I'm crazy to see that kid."

"Really!" says Marjorie, beamin' delighted. "Then you shall go right up now, while he is----"

"No," says I, holdin' up one hand. "I might sneeze, or something.

I'll just stick around until he wakes up."

"It's too bad," says Marjorie; "but Verona is dressing and----"

"What!" says I. "Vee here?"

"Just going," says Marjorie. "Her aunty is to call for her in about an hour."

Say, then was no time for wastin' fleetin' moments on any bluff. "Say, Marjorie," says I, "couldn't you get her to speed up the toilet motions a bit and shoo her downstairs? Don't say who; but just hint that someone wants to see her mighty special for a few moments. There's a good girl!"

Marjorie giggles and shows her dimples. "I might try," says she.

"Suppose you wait in the library, where there's a nice log fire."

So it's me for an easy chair in the corner, where I can watch for the entrance. Five minutes by the clock on the mantel, and nothing happens. Ten minutes, and no Vee. Then I hears a smothered snicker off to the left. I'd got my face all set for the cheerful greetin'

too, when I discovers two pairs of brown eyes inspectin' me roguish, through the parted portieres. And neither pair was any I'd ever seen before.

"Huh!" thinks I. "Nice way to treat guests!" and I pretends not to notice. I've picked up a magazine and am readin' the pictures industrious, when there's more snickers. I scowls, fidgets around some, and fin'lly takes another glance. The brown eyes are twinklin'

mischievous, all four of 'em.

"Well," says I, "what's the joke? Shoot it!"

At that into the room bounces a couple of girls, somewhere around ten and twelve, I should judge; tall, long-legged kids, but cute lookin', and genuine live wires, from their toes up. They're fairly wigglin'

with some kind of excitement.

"We know who you are!" singsongs one, pointin' the accusin' finger.

"You're Torchy!" says the other.

"Then I'm discovered," says I. "How'd you dope it out?"

"By your hair!" comes in chorus, and then they goes to a panicky clinch and giggles down each other's necks.

"Hey, cut out the comic relief," says I, "and give me a turn. Which one of you is Peggy?"

"Why, who told you that?" demands the one with the red ribbon.

"Oh, I'm some guesser myself," says I. "It's you."

"Pooh! I bet it was Uncle Ferdinand," says she.

"Good sleuth work!" says I. "He's the guy. But I didn't know he had such a cunnin' set of nieces. Most as tall as he is, ain't you, Peggy?"

But that don't happen to be the line of dialogue they're burnin' to follow out. Exchangin' a look, they advance mysterious until there's one on each side of me, and then Peggy whispers dramatic: