ient while he does a mental review of old stuff. I could guess near
enough how some of them scenes would show up: the bunch gatherin' in one
of the little banquet rooms upstairs at Del's., and Bonnie surrounded
three deep by admirin' males, perhaps kiddin' Ward McAllister over one
shoulder and Freddie Gebhard whisperin' over the other; or after
attendin' one of Patti's farewell concerts there would be a beefsteak
and champagne supper somewhere uptown--above Twenty-third Street--and
some wild sport would pull that act of drinking Bonnie's health out of
her slipper. You know? And I expect they printed her picture on the
front page of the "Clipper" when she broke into private theatricals.

"And she's still on deck?" I suggests.

Old Hickory nods. He goes on to say how the last he heard of her she'd
married some rich South American that she'd met in Washington and gone
off to live in Brazil, or the Argentine. That had been quite a spell
back, I take it. He didn't say just how long ago. Anyway, she'd dropped
out for good, he'd supposed.

"And now," says he, "she has returned, a widow, to settle on the old
farm, up somewhere near Cooperstown. It appears, however, that she finds
it rather dull. I can't fancy Bonnie on a farm somehow. Anyway, she has
half a mind, she says, to try New York once more before she finally
decides. Wants to see some of the old places again. And by the great
cats, she shall! No matter what my fool doctors say, Torchy, I mean to
take a night or two off when she comes. If Bonnie can stand it I guess I
can, too."

"Yes, sir," says I, grinnin' sympathetic.

Well, that was 1:15 a.m. And at exactly 2:30 he limps out with his hand
to his right side and his face the color of cigar ashes. He's in for
another spell. I gets his heart specialist on the 'phone and loads Mr.
Ellins into a taxi. Just before closin' time he calls up from the house
to say that he's off to the sanitarium for another treatment and may be
gone a couple of weeks. I must tell Mr. Robert about those options,
have him sub. in at the next directors' meetin', and do a lot of odd
jobs that he'd left unfinished.

"And by the way, Torchy," he winds up, "about Bonnie."

"Oh, yes," says I. "The lady fascinator."

"If she should show up while I am away," says Old Hickory, "don't--don't
bother to tell her I'm a sick old man. Just say I--I've been called out
of town, or something."

"I get you," says I. "Business trip."

"She'll be disappo