But I floats downtown as gay and chirky as though
I'd been promoted to first vice-president of something.

Course I was wise to the fact that Aunty wa'n't arrangin' any duo act
with the lights shaded soft. Not her! Even if I had an official ratin'
in the Corrugated now, and a few weeks back had shunted her off from a
losin' stock deal, she wa'n't tryin' to decoy me into the fam'ly.
Hardly! I could guess how she'd set the stage for my weekly call, and if
I found myself with anything more than a walk-on part in a mob scene I'd
be lucky.

You know she's taken a house for the winter, one of them old-fashioned
brownstone fronts up on Madison-ave. that some friends of hers was goin'
to close durin' a tour abroad. Nothin' swell, but real comfy and
substantial, and as I marches up bold for my first push at the bell
button I'm kind of relieved that I don't have to stand in line.

Who should I get a glimpse of, though, as I'm handin' my things to the
butler, but the favored candidate, Sappy Westlake? Yep, big as life,
with his slick, pale hair, his long legs, and his woodeny face! Looked
like his admission card must have been punched for eight P.M., or else
he'd been asked for dinner. Anyway, he was right on the ground, thumpin'
out a new rag on the piano, and enjoyin' the full glare of the
limelight. The only other entry I can discover is a girl.

"My friend Miss Ull," explains Vee.

A good deal of a queen Miss Ull is too, tall and slim and tinted up
delicate, but one of these poutin', peevish beauts that can look you
over cold and distant and say "Howdy do" in such a bored, tired tone
that you feel like apologizin' for the intrusion.

They didn't get wildly enthusiastic over my entrance, Miss Ull and
Westy. In fact, almost before the honors are done they turns their backs
on me and drifts to the piano once more.

"Do play that 'Try-trimmer-Traeumerei' thing again," urges Miss Ull, and
begins to hum it as Westy proceeds to bang it out.

But there's Vee, her wheat-colored hair fluffin' about her seashell ears
and her big gray eyes watchin' me sort of quizzin' and impish. "Well,
Mr. Private Secretary?" says she.

"When does the rest of the chorus come on?" says I.

"The what?" says Vee.

"The full panel," says I. "Aunty's planned to have the S. R. O. sign out
on my evenin's, ain't she?"

At which Vee tosses her head. "How silly!" says she. "No one else is
expected that I know of. Why?"

"Oh, she might think we'd be