. Robert's, that I'm
tryin' to entertain, camped in the private office, when fair-haired
Vincent comes in off the brass gate to report respectful this new
arrival.

"A gentleman to see Mr. Robert, Sir," says he.

"Well, he's still out," says I.

"So I told him, Sir," says Vincent; "but then he asks if Mr. Ferdinand
isn't here. I didn't know, Sir. Is there a----"

"Sure, Vincent, sure!" says I. "Brother-in-law Ferdie, you know. What's
the gentleman's real name?"

"Mr. Blair Hiscock," says Vincent, readin' the card.

"Ever hear that one?" I asks Hamilton, and he says he ain't. "Must be
some fam'ly friend, though," I goes on. "We'll take a chance, Vincent.
Tell Blair to breeze in."

I might have had bean enough to have looked for another pair of
shell-rimmed glasses too. That's what shows up. Only this party, instead
of beamin' mild and foolish through 'em, same as Ferdie does, stares
through his sort of peevish. He's a pale-haired, sharp-faced, undersized
young gent too, and dressed sort of finicky in one of them Ballyhooly
cape coats, an artist necktie, and a two-story soft hat with a striped
scarf wound around it.

"Well?" says I, leanin' back in the swing chair and doin' my best to
spring the genial smile.

"Isn't Ferdinand here, then?" he demands, glancin' about impatient.

"Good guess," says I. "He ain't. Drifts in about once a month, though,
as a rule, and as it's been three weeks or so since he was here last,
maybe you'd like to----"

"How absurd!" snaps Blair. "But he was to meet me here to-day at this
time."

"Was, eh?" says I. "Well, if you know Ferdie, you can gamble that he'll
be an hour or two behind, if he gets here at all."

"Thanks," says Blair, real crisp. "You needn't bother. I fancy I know
Ferdie quite as well as you do."

"Oh, I wa'n't boastin'," says I, "and you don't bother me a bit. If you
think Ferdie's liable to remember, you're welcome to stick around as
long as----"

"I'll wait half an hour, anyway," he breaks in.

"Then you might as well meet Mr. Hamilton," says I. "Friend of Mr.
Robert's--Marjorie's too, I expect."

The two of 'em nods casual, and then I notices Nutt take a closer look.
A second later a humorous quirk flickers across his wide face.

"Well, well!" says he. "It's Sukey, isn't it?"

At which Mr. Hiscock winces like he'd been jabbed with a pin. He flushes
up too, and his thin-lipped, narrow mouth takes on a pout.

"I don't care to be called that," he sna