lease tell
us who--that is--which one of us was the serenade intended for?"

This brings the deepest groan of all from J. Meredith.

"Come on, now," says I, hoarse and low in his ear. "It's up to you.
Which?"

"Oh, really," he whispers back, "I--I can't!"

"You got to, and quick," says I. "Come now, was it Pansy?"

"No, no!" says he, gaspy.

"Huh!" says I. "Then Violet gets the decision." And I holds him off
by main strength while I calls out, "Why, ain't you on yet? It was for
Violet, of course."

"Ah-h-h-h! Thank you. Good night," comes a voice--no chorus this
time: just one--and the window is shut.

"There you are, Merry," says I. "It's all over. You're as good as
booked for life."

He was game about it, though, Merry was. He squares it with Aunty
before goin' to bed, and right after breakfast next mornin' he marches
over to the Hibbses real business-like. Half an hour later I saw him
strollin' out on the wharf with one of the big sisters, and I knew it
must be Violet. It was his busy day; so I says nothin' to anybody, but
fades.

And you should have seen the jaunty, beamin' J. Meredith that swings
into the Corrugated Monday mornin'. He stops at the gate to give me a
fraternal grip.

"It's all right, Torchy," says he. "She--she'll have me--Violet, you
know. And we are to live abroad. We sail in less than a month."

"But what about Pansy?" says I.

"Oh, she's coming with us, of course," says he. "Really, they're both
charming girls."

"Huh!" says I. "That's where you were when I found you. You're past
that point, remember."

"Yes, I know," says he. "It was you helped me too, and I wish in some
way I could show my----"

"You can," says I. "Leave me the cornet. I might need it some day
myself."

CHAPTER XI

THE PASSING BY OF BUNNY

It's a shame the way some of these popular clubmen is bothered with
business. Here was Mr. Robert, only the other day, with an important
four-cue match to be played off between four-thirty and dinnertime; and
what does the manager of our Chicago branch have to do but go and muss
up the schedule by wirin' in that he might have to call for
headquarters' advice on that Burlington order maybe after closin' time.

"Oh, pshaw!" remarks Mr. Robert, after he's read the message.

"The simp!" says I. "Guess he thinks the Corrugated gen'ral offices
runs night and day shifts, don't he?"

"Very well put," says Mr. Robert. "Still, it means rathe