talk of the
town--champagne with the fish, vodka with the coffee, cigarettes for the
women, cut-up stunts afterwards. I forget just who No. 3 was, but he
succumbed. Couldn't stand the pace, I suppose. And then---- Well, Aunt
Clara disappeared. But, say, she was a regular person. I wish I could
find out what ever became of her."

"Maybe Mrs. Parker Smith could give you a line," I suggests.

"Her!" says Claire. "Fat chance! But I must finish dressing. Sorry to
keep you waiting."

We did get a bit restless durin' the next half hour, but the wait was
worth while. For, believe me, when Claire comes down again she's some
dolled.

I don't mean she was any home-destroyer. That face of hers is too long
and heavy for the front row of a song review. But she has plenty of zip
to her get-up. After one glance I calls a taxi.

The way I'd left it with Mrs. Parker Smith, we was to land Claire at the
hotel first; then call her up, and proceed to order dinner. So we had
another little stage wait, with only the three of us at the table.

"I hope you don't mind if I have a puff or two," says Claire. "It goes
here, you know."

"Anything to make the evenin' a success," says I, signalin' a garcon.
"My khaki lets me out of followin' you."

So, when the head waiter finally tows in Mrs. Parker Smith, costumed in
the same gray dress and lookin' meeker and gentler than ever, she is
greeted with a sporty tableau. But she don't faint or anything. She just
springs that twisty smile of hers and comes right on.

"The missing one!" says I, wavin' at Claire.

"Ah!" says Mrs. Parker Smith, beamin' on her. "So good of you to come!"

"Wasn't it?" says Claire, removin' the cork tip languid.

Well, as a get-together I must admit that the outlook was kind of
frosty. Claire showed plenty of enthusiasm for the hors d'oeuvres
and the low-tide soup and so on, but mighty little for this volunteer
auntie, who starts to describe the subtle joys of the butter business.

"Perhaps you have never seen a herd of registered Guernseys," says Mrs.
Parker Smith, "when they are munching contentedly at milking time, with
their big, dreamy eyes----"

"Excuse me!" says Claire. "I don't have to. I spent a whole month's
vacation on a Vermont farm."

Mrs. Parker Smith only smiles indulgent.

"We use electric milkers, you know," says she, "and most of our young
men come from the agricultural colleges."

"That listens alluring--some," admits Claire. "But I can't