enuine Connecticut-made relics like
that."

Gets him white about the gills, this jab does.

"Puppy!" he hisses out. "Do you insinuate that--"

"Not me," says I. "I'm too polite. But when you unload duplicates of
the late Oliver Cromwell's writing-desk you ought to see that both
don't go to friends of Colonel Brassle. Messy old party, the Colonel,
and I understand he's tryin' to induce 'em to make trouble. Course,
you might explain all that to Auntie; but in her present state of
mind-- Eh? Must you be goin'? Any word to send up? Shall I tell her
this wilt-thou date is postponed to--"

"Bah!" says Clyde, bangin' the taxi door shut and signalin' the
chauffeur to get under way. I think I saw him shakin' his fist back at
me as he drives off. So rough of him!

Upstairs I finds Auntie all in a flutter and tryin' to hide it. Vee
looks at me inquirin' and anxious, but I chats on for a while just as
if nothing had happened. Somehow, I was enjoyin' watchin' Auntie
squirm. My mistake was in forgettin' that Vee was fidgety, too. No
sooner has Auntie left the room, to send Helma scoutin' down to the
front door, than I'm reminded.

"Ouch!" says I. Vee sure can pinch when she tries. I decides to
report.

"Oh; by the way," says I, as Auntie comes back, "I just ran across Mr.
Creighton."

"Yes?" says Auntie eager.

"He wasn't feelin' quite himself," says I. "Sudden attack of something
or other. He didn't say exactly. But I expect that concert excursion
is scratched."

"Scratched!" says Auntie, lookin' dazed.

"Canceled," says I. "Anyway, he went off in a hurry."

"But--but he-was to have--" And there she stops.

"I know," says I. "Maybe he'll explain later, though."

No wonder she was dizzy from it, and it's quite natural that soon after
she felt one of her bad headaches comin' on. So Vee and Helma got busy
at once. After they'd tucked her away with the ice-bag and the
smellin'-salts, she asked to be let alone; so durin' the next half hour
I had a chance to tell Vee all about Creighton and his career.

"But he did seem so refined!" says Vee.

"Yon got to be," says I, "to deal in fake antiques. His mistake was in
tacklin' something genuine"; and I nods towards a picture of Auntie.

"I don't see how I can ever tell her," says Vee.

"It would be a shame," says I. "Them late romances come so sudden.
Why not just let her press it and put it away? Clyde will never come
back."

"Just think,