s collar, slips a looped string over his
head, and holds out a ring. It's a big ruby set in pale gold.

"That is the ring of Donna Mario," says Don Pedro.

"Hal-lup," says I. "Jonesey, do you mean to say you're the same one who
sailed with Dynamite Johnny, risked your neck to go poking around
Havana, made love to the Governor General's niece, trussed him up like a
roasting turkey when he interfered, and escaped with her in the palace
coach through whole rafts of soldiers who'd have been made rich for
life if they'd shot you on sight? You!"

"That--that was a long time ago," says Jonesey.

And if you will believe me, that's about all he would say. Wasn't even
much excited over the fact that a hundred thousand dollar sugar
plantation was about to be wished on him. Oh, yes, he'd go down with Don
Pedro and take possession. Was the grave of Donna Mario there? Then he
would go, surely.

"I--I would rather like to," says Old Jonesey.

"Huh," says I. "You better stick around until tomorrow noon. I want you
to hear what I've got to feed to that bond-room bunch."

Jonesey shakes his head. No, he'd rather not. And as he shuffles back to
his old files I hears him mumblin', sort of soft and easy: "Donna Mario.
Ah, yes! Donna Mario!"

Which proves, don't it, that you can't always tell. Even when the party
has such a common name as Jones.

CHAPTER XI

AS LUCY LEE PASSED BY

Someone put on that Tales of Hoffman record, please, with a soft needle.
Thanks. Now if you'll turn out all but one bulb in the old rose-shaded
electrolier and pass the chocolate marshmallows maybe I'll try to sketch
out for you this Lucy Lee-Peyton Pratt version of the sweetest story
ever told.

We got Lucy Lee on the bounce, as it were. She really hadn't come all
the way up from Atlanta to visit Vee even if they were old
boardin'-school chums. No, she was on her way to a house party up in
Lenox and was fillin' in the time before that happened by making a duty
stay with an old maid aunt who lived on Madison Avenue. But when it
develops that Auntie is taking the buttermilk cure for dyspepsia, has
grown too deaf to enjoy the theater, and is bugs over manipulatin' the
Ouija board, Lucy Lee gets out her address book and begins callin' up
old friends.

I don't know how far down Vee was on the list but she seems to be the
first one to fall easy. When she hears how bored Lucy Lee is on Madison
Avenue she insists on her coming right out with us. S