Shorty?" she demands.

"Now that you mention it, I expect she is," says I, playin' safe and
foxy. It's a useful phrase to pull in such cases; but here was once when
I must have worked it overtime. Sadie sniffs.

"Pooh!" says she. "Just as though you couldn't see for yourself! Don't
be absurd, Shorty."

"Gee! but you're hard to suit!" says I. "If I remember right, the last
time I got enthusiastic over the looks of a young queen you wrinkled
your nose and made remarks about my taste."

"It was that snippy little Marjorie Lowry with the baby face, wasn't
it?" says she. "Oh, very well, if you prefer that kind. Just like a
man!"

"Do I have to pick either one?" says I. "I hope not; for, between you
and me, Sadie, I'm satisfied as it stands."

"Goose!" says she, snugglin' up forgivin'. "And--would you guess
it?--they say she's twenty-six! I wonder why she isn't married?"

"There you go!" says I. "I could see it comin'."

"But she is such an attractive girl," goes on Sadie, "so well poised,
graceful, dignified, all that! And she has such exquisite coloring, and
such charming manners!"

Yep, I guess it was all so. One of these wavin' palm models, Veronica
was,--tall and willowy, with all the classy points of a heroine in a
thirty-five-cent magazine serial,--dark eyes, dark, wavy hair, good
color scheme in her cheeks,--the whole bag of tricks,--and specially
long on dignity. Say, she had me muffled from the first tap of the bell,
and you know how apt I am to try to break that sort of spell with a few
frivolous cracks. Not when Veronica swings on me with that calm gaze of
hers, though!

For Sadie don't do a thing but call on the Adamses, give a tea for
Veronica, and proceed to round up all the Johnnies in sight to meet her.
It's her reg'lar campaign, you know.

"Ah, why not let the poor girl alone?" says I. "Maybe she's got one in
trainin' somewhere herself. There's no tellin', too, but what she's
stayin' single from choice."

"Humph!" says Sadie. "Only the homely ones are entitled to give that
excuse, because they have no other; and only a stupid man would believe
it in either case. I suppose Miss Adams hasn't married because the right
man hasn't asked her. Sometimes they don't, you know. But it's a perfect
shame, and if I can help the right one to find her I'm going to do it."

"Sure you are," says I. "That's the skirt instinct. But, say, while the
men still have the vote all to themselves they ought to revise