n a girl can," he asserted. "I've lived here for three
months, and this is the first time I've spoken to you."

The color deepened in her cheeks. "I suppose I shouldn't be talking to
you now but--Mary Rose--and we are neighbors. One does get so
suspicious living with suspicious people," apologetically.

"Please don't be suspicious of me. I'm the most harmless man in Waloo.
I'm too busy hanging on to my job to be dangerous. I propose a vote of
thanks to Mary Rose for bringing us together. All in favor say aye.
The ayes have it." He held out his hand.

She laughed consciously, but after a second she gave him her fingers.
"It is pleasant to be able to speak to one's neighbors," she admitted
with a hint of formality that in some way pleased Mr. Strahan.

Mary Rose stopped at Mr. Wells' door as she went downstairs. It would
be but friendly to tell him that Jenny Lind was found, he must be
anxious. But she hesitated before she rapped on the door, very gently
this time.

Mr. Wells had not lost any of his grimness when he opened it. He had
on his hat and he looked to Mary Rose's startled eyes as tall as the
steeple of the Presbyterian Church in Mifflin.

"Well, what now?" he snapped.

Mary Rose caught her breath. "I thought you would like to know that
Jenny Lind is safe." She lifted the cage so that he could see for
himself how safe and comfortable Jenny Lind was. "She was on the
lowest shelf of the dumbwaiter. The enchanted princess's milk bottle
was on the top shelf." And she chuckled. Now that she was no longer
frightened, Jenny Lind's adventure seemed a joke.

It was not a joke to Mr. Wells. "A city apartment house is no place
for pets--or children," he said and shut the door.

Mary Rose stared at the mahogany panels. "Crosspatch," she whispered.
And then she said it louder, "Crosspatch!"

The door opened as if by magic and Mr. Wells came out and shut it
behind him.

"Did you say anything?" he asked coldly.

Mary Rose was too startled and too honest not to tell the truth.

"I said crosspatch," she faltered and waited bravely for the deluge.

The two looked at each other. The tall man with the nervous, irritable
face and the little girl with the birdcage in her hand. She did not
say that she had called him a crosspatch, and kindly Discretion
whispered in Mr. Wells' ear that it would be wise to leave well enough
alone. Without another word he stalked by Mary Rose down the stairs.

Mary R