ies whose whole stock in trade
was a pair of misbehavin' eyes."

"Pooh!" says Peyton. "I've been exposed to that sort of thing as often
as anyone. I think I'm immune."

"Maybe you are," I has to admit.

So as I tows Peyton out to the house that afternoon I kind of hands it
to myself that I've filled Vee's order. And there standing on the front
veranda admirin' the lilacs is Lucy Lee in one of her plain little
frocks--a pink and white check--lookin' as fresh and dainty and
inexpensive as a prize exhibit from an orphan asylum.

I whispers to Vee on the side: "Well, you see I got him. Peyton's
someone she can practice on, too, and no harm done. He's case
hardened."

"Really," says Vee, lookin' him over.

"Admits it himself," says I.

"Oh, well, then!" says Vee, with one of her quizzin' smiles.

And at first it looked like Peyton was about to qualify as an all-'round
exempt. He barely seemed to see Lucy Lee. While she was unreelin' the
sprightly chatter he was inspectin' the baby, or talkin' with Vee, or
askin' fool questions about the garden. Hardly takes a second glance at
Lucy Lee. I expect he had her sized up as about sixteen. He could easy
make that mistake.

Maybe that's what started her in on this brisk offensive at dinner.
Nothing high-school girly about Lucy Lee when she floats down the stairs
at 7:15. It's a grown-up evenin' gown she's wearin' this time. No doubt
then whether or not she'd had her comin' out. The only question was
where she was going to stop comin' out. Not that it wasn't simple
enough, but it sure was skimpy above the belt.

After his first gasp you could see Peyton sittin' up and takin' notice.
Couldn't very well help it, either, for Lucy Lee sure had the net out. I
hadn't noticed them big innocent eyes of hers brought into full play
before but now she cuts loose regardless. And Peyton, he is right in
range. She's givin' him samples of them Oh-you-great-big-wonderful man
looks. You know. And inside of ten minutes Peyton don't know whether
he's bein' passed the peas or is being elected second vice-president of
something.

And I'd always classed Peyton as a cold storage proposition! You should
see the way he thaws out, though. Why, he tells funny stories, throws
off repartee, and spreads himself generally. That long sallow face of
his got tinted up like he'd had a beauty parlor treatment, and his
serious eyes got to sparklin' behind the thick panes.

As for Vee and me, we swapped an