"Then take it," says Vee, throwing the lilac spray on the ground.

"You'll find a quarter stuck on the bush," says I. "Sorry, MacGregor, we
couldn't make a trade. The young lady is mighty fond of lilacs."

"Is she, now?" says Shinn, still scowlin' at us.

"And she thinks your place here is pretty cute," I adds.

"It's a rotten hole," says he.

"Maybe you're a poor judge," says I. "If it was fixed up a bit I should
think it might be quite spiffy."

"What call has an old bachelor to be fixing things up?" he demands.
"What do I care how the place looks? And what business is it of yours,
anyway?"

"Say, you're a consistent grouch, ain't you?" says I, givin' him the
grin. "What's the particular trouble--was you toppin' your drive
to-day?"

"Slicin', mon," says he. "Hardly a tee shot found the fairway the whole
round. And then you two come breaking me bushes."

"My error," says I. "But you should have hung out a sign that you was
inside chewin' nails."

"I was doing nothing of the kind," says he. "I was waiting for that
grinning idiot, Len Hung, to give me me tea."

"Well, don't choke over it when you do get it," says I. "And if you
ain't ready to sic the police on us we'll be trotting along back."

"Ye wull not," says MacGregor; "ye'll have tea with me."

It sounds like a threat, and I can see Vee gettin' ready to object
strenuous. So I gives her the nudge.

I expect it's because I'm so used to Old Hickory's blowin' out a fuse
that I don't duck quicker when a gas-bomb disposition begins to sputter
around. They don't mean half of it, these furious fizzers.

Sometimes it's sciatica, more often a punk digestion, and seldom pure
cussedness. If you don't humor 'em by comin' back messy yourself, but
just jolly 'em along, they're apt to work out of it. And I'd seen sort
of a human flicker in them blue-gray eyes of MacGregor Shinn's.

"Vee," says I, "our peevish friend is invitin' us to take tea with him.
Shall we chance it?"

And you know what a good sport Vee is. She lets the curve come into her
mouth corners again, both of her cheek dimples show, and she shoots a
quizzin' smile at Mr. Shinn.

"Does he say it real polite?" she asks.

"Na," says MacGregor. "But there'll be hot scones and marmalade."

"M-m-m-m!" says Vee. "Let's, Torchy."

It's an odd finish to an affair that started so scrappy. Not that Shinn
reverses himself entirely, or turns from a whiskered golf grump into a
stage fairy in spangled