folks comin' and goin', and a buzz of chin music that you could
hear clear out to the gate, where I was waitin' with Martin until we
should get the signal to start back.

I didn't know just how it would be, but I suspected I might be invited
to ride in front on the home trip. I'd made up my mind to start there,
anyway. But, say, when the time comes and Vee trips out to the
limousine, where I'm holdin' the door open and lookin' sheepish, I
takes a chance on a glance into them gray eyes of hers. I got a chill
too. It's only for a second, though. She was doing her best to look
cold and distant; but behind that I could spot a smile. So I changes
the programme.

"Say," says I, followin' her in and shuttin' the door, "wa'n't that kid
Gladys the limit, though?"

"Why," says she, givin' me the quizzin' stare, "I thought you had just
loads of fun coming up."

"Hearing which cruel words," says I, "our hero strode moodily into his
castle."

Vee snickers at that. "And locked the haughty maiden out in the cold,
I suppose?" says she.

"If it was you," says I, "I'd take the gate off the hinges."

"Silly!" says she. "Do you know, Gladys looked real sweet afterward."

"I'll bet the reform don't last, though," says I. "But that was a
great scheme of yours for persuadin' her to scrub off the stencil work.
There's so many of that kind nowadays, maybe the idea would be worth
copyrightin'. What do you think, Vee?"

Never mind the rest, though. We had a perfectly good ride back, and up
to date Aunty ain't wise to it.

Of course by next mornin' too Mr. Robert has forgot all about the
afternoon before, and he seems surprised when I puts in an expense bill
of twenty-five cents.

"What's this for?" says he.

"Gumdrops for little Gladys," says I, and as he forks over a quarter I
never cracks a smile.

Wait until he hears the returns from Marjorie, though! I'll give him
some string to pay up for that kindergarten steer of his. Watch me!

CHAPTER IX

LATE RETURNS ON POPOVER

"Well?" says I, keepin' my feet up on the desk and glancin' casual over
the brass rail. "What's your complaint, Spaghetti?"

It's a wrong guess, to begin with; but I wa'n't even takin' the trouble
to place him accurate. He's some kind of a foreigner, and that's
enough. Besides, from the fidgety way he's grippin' his hat in both
hands, and the hesitating sidlin' style he has of makin' his approach,
I figured he must be a stray that ha