nd all the rest. She'd want an affidavit, at least.

But I had made up my mind to have a talk with Vee. I hadn't had more'n a
glimpse of her for weeks now, and while I might not feel like givin'
her complete details of all that had happened to me recent, I thought I
might drop an illuminatin' hint or so. Was I goin' to let a gimlet-eyed
old dame with an acetic acid disposition block me off as easy as that?

"Herman," says I, "you can just drop me on Madison-ave. as we go down.
And you better report at the house before you put up the machine. They
may want to be goin' somewhere."

I'd heard Uncle Kyrle speak of promisin' to make a call on someone he'd
met lately that he'd known abroad. As for me, I just strolls up and down
two or three blocks, takin' a chance that Vee might drift out. But I
sticks around near an hour without any luck.

"Huh!" says I to myself at last. "Might as well risk it again, and if I
can't run the gate--well, swappin' a few more plain words with Aunty'll
relieve my feelin's some, anyway."

With that I marches up bold and presses the button. "Say," says I to the
maid, "don't tell me Aunty's gone out since I left!"

Selma shakes her head solemn as her mighty Swedish intellect struggles
to surround the situation. "Meesis she dress by supper in den room yet,"
says she.

"Such sadness!" says I. "Maybe there's nobody but Miss Vee downstairs?"

"_Ja_," says Selma, starin' stupid. "Not nobody else but Miss Verona,
no."

"You're a bright girl--from the feet down," says I, pushin' in past her.
"Shut the door easy so as not to disturb Aunty, and I'll try to cheer up
Miss Verona until she comes down. She's in the lib'ry, eh?"

Yep, I was doin' my best. We'd exchanged the greetin's of the season and
was camped cozy in a corner davenport just big enough for two, while I
was explainin' how tough it was not havin' her along for the drive, and
I'd collected one of her hands casual, pattin' it sort of absent-minded,
when--say, no trained bloodhound has anything on Aunty! There she is,
standin' rigid between the double doors glarin' at us accusin'.

"So you returned after all that, did you?" she demands.

"I didn't know but you might want to tack on a postscript," says I.

"Young man," says she, just as friendly as a Special Sessions Judge
callin' the prisoner to the bar, "you are quite right. And I wish to say
to you now, in the presence of my niece, that----"

"Now, Aunty! Please!" breaks in Verona,