lled loudly for Guilfords' number. Then he held an
illuminating though strictly imaginary conversation with Nancy, in the
course of which he twitted her playfully about being so easily fooled.

"Put an'thing more on the tree?" he asked finally. "That's right! I
guess we put on everything there was. Well, g'by! See you to-morrow!"
And he hung up the receiver.

He had just resumed his chair after this master-stroke when the
telephone rang. This time it was the _real_ Nancy.

CHAPTER XXIX

THE PARTY

Sube's glib flow of language of the moment before seemed to have
deserted him entirely. He stuttered and stammered and stalled. He tried
to put matters off till the morrow, but Nancy would not hear of such a
thing. She wanted to be reassured as to Auntie Emma's condition. She
must know at once whether her party was likely to be cheated out of his
presence.

"Mamma called up your mother," she informed him, "and she said she
hadn't heard a word about it. She thought there must be some mistake."

"Yes, there was," Sube considered it safe to reply.

"You hadn't told her yet! You were keeping it from her to spare her,
weren't you, Sube?"

"Yes, I was."

"That's just what I told mamma. And when we both called up and you
weren't home yet, I just knew you'd gone down there to help. You had,
hadn't you?"

"Why, yes, course I had."

"And now tell me all about how she is."

"I can't!"

"Why, yes, you can! I want to know all about it! Now tell me!"

"But I tell you I can't!"

"But you must!"

"Why, you know--you know--now, what I tole you about one minute, and the
next?"

"No! What did you tell me?"

"Why, you know!"

"No, I don't! Tell me again!"

"I can't now!"

"Why not?"

"'Cause I can't!"

"Oh!--I know why!--She's dead!--Mamma!" Sube heard her call. "She's
dead!"

"She is not!" screamed Sube. "She's--she's just the _opposite_!"

"She's what?"

"The opposite to what you said!"

"What's that?"

"Alive and kickin'! All well! All over it the next minute! See you
to-morrow! G'-by!"

And again slammed on the receiver.

Mrs. Cane had just finished a little dissertation on the elements of
courtesy and its necessary place in the lexicon of youth, when Sube
looked up absently and asked:

"Who's pooah deah Clar-r-rence?"

"I didn't understand, dear. What's the name?" she asked.

"He's dead, I guess. Nancy's aunt was bawlin' about him to-night."

"He means Clarence Harger," guessed Mr.