manded.

"I don't know." Ikey's eyes were clear pools of truth.

"Have my daughter and her father arrived yet?"

"I don't know."

"Well, have they telephoned?" Mrs. Balcome strove to curb her rising
irritation.

"I don't know."

Patience could bear no more. "What's the matter with you?" she cried.
"Don't you know anything?"

"Not'ing," boasted Ikey. "I promised, now, dat I vouldn't, und I keep
my vord!"

Mrs. Balcome seized him by a sleeve of his faded blue waist. "You
promised who?" she screeched, forgetting grammar in her anger. "I'll
report you to Mrs. Milo, that's what I'll do! How dare----"

A hearty voice interrupted. "Good-morning, my boy! Good-morning!"
Balcome grinned broadly, pleased at this opportunity of contrasting his
cordiality with the harshness of his better half.

Ikey was not slow in recognizing opportunity either. "Goot-mornin',"
he returned, ostentatiously rubbing an arm.

"Is Miss Milo at home?" inquired Balcome, with exaggerated politeness,
enjoying the evident embarrassment of the lady present, who--not unlike
Lot's wife--had suddenly turned, as it were, into a frozen pillar.

"I don't know," chanted Ikey.

"Well, is Mr. Farvel at home?"

Now, Ikey stretched out weary hand. "Oh, please," he begged, "_don't_
make me lie no more!"

"Ha-a-a-a?" cried Balcome.

"_What?_" exclaimed Mrs. Balcome.

Ikey nodded, shaking that injured finger. "To lie ain't Christian," he
reminded slyly.

Balcome guffawed. But Mrs. Balcome, visited with a dire thought,
looked suddenly concerned.

"Tell me:"--she came heaving toward Ikey once more; "did my
daughter stay last night with her father?" And as Ikey
stared, not understanding the system of family telephoning,
"Did--my--daughter--stay--last--night--with--her--father?"

"But vy ask me?" complained Ikey. "Let him lie! Let him!" And he
started churchward.

"Wait!" Balcome was bellowing now. "Where is my daughter?"

"Didn't she stay with her father?" repeated Mrs. Balcome.

"Didn't she stay with her mother?" cried Balcome.

Ikey did not need to reply. For one question had answered the other.
With an "Oh! Oh!" of apprehension, Mrs. Balcome sank, a dead weight,
to a bench.

"Where is she, I say? Where is she?" Now Balcome had the unfortunate
Ikey by a faded blue sleeve. He shook him so that all the curls on his
head bobbed madly. "Open your mouth!"

"I don't know!" denied Ikey, desperately.

"Good Heavens!" B