hat the fam'ly was goin' abroad for the
summer.

"But all that may mean nothing at all, you know," says Mr. Robert.

"And then again," says I. "Study that out and see if it don't tally with
your dope," and I produces a copy of Izzy's wireless.

Mr. Robert wrinkles his forehead over it without any result. "What is
it?" says he.

"An inside tip on Tractions," says I, and sketches out how I'd got it.

"Oh, I see now," says he. "That about Grebel? But what is melding? And
this last--'Teg morf rednu'? I can make no sense of that."

"Try it backwards," says I.

"Why--er--by Jove!" says he. "Get from under, eh? Then--then there is a
slump coming. And with all that new stock issue, I'm not surprised. But
that hits Miss Vee's aunt rather heavily, doesn't it? That is, if the
deal has gone through."

"Who's her lawyers?" says I. "They ought to know."

"Of course," says Mr. Robert, reachin' for the 'phone. "Winkler, Burt &
Winkler. Look up the number, will you? Eh? Broad, did you say?"

And inside of three minutes he has explained the case and got the
verdict. "They don't know," says he. "The transfer receipts were sent
for her to sign last night. If she's signed them, there's nothing to be
done."

"But if she hasn't?" says I.

"Then she mustn't," says Mr. Robert. "It would mean letting that crowd
get a foothold in Corrugated, and a loss of thousands to her. See if
the tape shows any recent fluctuations."

"Bluey-ooey!" says I, runnin' over the mornin' sales hasty. "Opened at
seven-eighths, then 500 at three-quarters, another block at a half, 300
at a quarter--why, it's on the toboggan!"

"She must be found and warned at once," says Mr. Robert.

"Am I the guy?" says I.

"You are," says he. "And minutes may count. I'll get the address for
you. It's in that----"

"Say," I throws over my shoulder on my way to the door, "whose aunt is
this, anyway?"

Looked like a simple matter for me to locate Aunty. And if she was out
takin' her drive or anything--why, I could be explainin' to Vee while I
waited. That would be tough luck, of course; but I could stand it for
once.

At their apartment hotel I finds nobody home but Celeste, the maid, all
dolled up like Thursday afternoon. She hands it to me cold and haughty
that Madame and Ma'mselle are out.

"I could almost guess that from the lid you're wearin'," says I. "One of
Miss Vee's, ain't it?"

She pinks up and goes gaspy at that. "Please," she begins pleadin', "if