ttle of brandy. But upon returning,
I discovered I'd neglected to bring glasses.

But Joy took the bottle from me in a rather dazed manner, knocked off
the neck against a leg of the bench and tipped the bottle to her
beautiful lips. She took a pull of brandy large enough to ward off the
worst case of pneumonia and then passed the bottle to Bag Ears.

"Drink hearty, pal," she murmured, and sort of sank down into herself.

I never got my turn at the bottle because, just at that moment, Aunt
Gretchen came sailing like a pink cloud along the conservatory walk. She
was no longer the old familiar Aunt Gretchen. Her eyes were glazed and
her face was drawn and weary.

Bag Ears looked up politely and asked, "Who's the fat sack?"

I was hoping Aunt Gretchen hadn't heard the question because she would
fail to understand that while his words were uncouth, he had a heart of
gold and meant well. And I don't think she _did_ hear him. She didn't
even hear Joy, who replied,

"That's the dame that owns the joint."

Aunt Gretchen fixed her accusing eyes upon me to the exclusion of
everyone else. Her button of a chin quivered. "Please understand,
Homer--I'm not criticizing. Things have gotten past that stage. I've
merely come to report that the house is filling up with an astounding
assortment of characters. Johnson resigned a half-hour ago. But before
he left, he suggested a man who could handle the situation far better
than he himself. A man named Frank Buck."

"But, my dear aunt," I protested. "There must be some mistake. I did not
invite any unusual people to this reception. I issued only three
invitations. I invited Willie Shank, who could not come because of a
dispute with the police over the ownership of a car he was driving
yesterday; John Smith, who could not come because this is the day he
reports to the parole board, and my good friend Bag Ears Mulligan."

"How did you happen to overlook Red Nose Tessie?" Joy asked.

"The poor woman is emotional. She does not enjoy wedding receptions. She
weeps."

"So does Aunt Gretchen," Joy observed.

Aunt Gretchen was indeed weeping--quietly, under the blanket of reserve
with which the Nicholases cover their emotions. I was about to comfort
her when she turned and fled. I started to run after her but decided
against it and returned to Joy.

"Perhaps," I said, "we had better investigate this strange turn of
events. Possibly our reception has been crashed by some undesirable
per