time she was here--the time
we had the Porterhouse? Conference in the dining-room after supper, and
the next morning out went the trunks of that red-head fellow--from
Baltimore--what's his name?--Milhiser."

"Well, she hasn't got any call to intrude in my affairs," said Mr.
Bylash, still rather miffed. "I'm here to tell you that!"

"Oh, I ain't speakin' of the reg'lars," answered Klinker, "so don't get
nervous. But say, I got kind of a hunch that here is where the little
Doc gets his."

Klinker's hunch was not without foundation; this very question was being
agitated at that moment in the room just over his head. Miss Weyland,
having passed the parlor portieres with no thought that her movements
were attracting interest on the other side of them, skipped up the
stairs, rapped on her Aunt Jennie's door, and ran breathlessly into the
room. Her aunt was sitting by the bureau, reading a novel from the
circulating library. Though she had been sitting right here since about
four o'clock, only getting up once to light the gas, she had a casual
air like one who is only killing a moment's time between important
engagements. She looked up at the girl's entrance, and an affectionate
smile lit her well-lined face.

"My dear Sharlee! I'm so glad to see you."

They kissed tenderly.

"Oh, Aunt Jennie, tell me! Is he--this man you telephoned me about--is
he a little, small, dried young man, with spectacles and a brown derby,
and needing a hair-cut, and the gravest, drollest manner in the world?
Tell me--is he?"

"My dear, you have described him to the life. Where did you see him?"

Sharlee collapsed upon the bed. Presently she revived and outlined the
situation to Aunt Jennie.

Mrs. Paynter listened with some interest. If humor is a defect, as they
tell us nowadays, she was almost a faultless woman. And in her day she
had been a beauty and a toast. You hear it said generously of a
thousand, but it happened to be true in her case. The high-bred
regularity of feature still survived, but she had let herself go in
latter years, as most women will who have other things than themselves
to think about, and hard things at that. Her old black dress was
carelessly put on; she could look at herself in the mirror by merely
leaning forward an inch or two, and it never occurred to her to do
it--an uncanny thing in a woman.

"I'm sure it sounds quite like him," said Mrs. Paynter, when her niece
had finished. "And so Gardiner West walked