"Sure thing, it's me," says I, grabbin' the hands before she could change her mind. "Say, have a seat, won't you, Miss Vee?"

"Oh, then you haven't forgotten?" says she.

"Me? Forget?" says I. "Say, Miss Vee, I'll keep right on rememberin'

that spiel we had together until breathin' goes out of fashion--and then some! Gee! but I'm glad you happened along!"

"But how is it," says she, "that you----"

"Special commission," says I. "I'm waitin' here for Mr. Robert Ellins."

"Oh!" says she. "And have you had some salad and sandwiches?"

"No; but I'm ready for 'em now," says I. "That is, if----Say, you don't mind doin' this, do you?"

"Why should I?" says she.

"Oh, well," says I, "you see I ain't--well, I'm kind of outcla.s.sed here, and I didn't know but some of the other girls might----"

"Let them dare!" says Miss Vee, straightenin' up and glancin' around haughty. My! but she's a thoroughbred! There was one group standin' a little way off watchin' us; but that look of Miss Vee's scattered 'em as though she'd turned the hose on them. Next minute she was smilin'

again. "You see," she goes on, sittin' close, "I'm not much afraid."

"You're a hummer, you are!" says I, lookin' her over approvin'.

"There, there!" says she. "I see that you must have something to eat right away. Here, Hortense! There! Now you'll have a cup of tea, won't you?"

"Anything you pa.s.s out goes with me," says I, "even to tea."

It was my first offense in the oolong line, and, honest, I couldn't tell now how it tasted; but I knew all about how Vee handles a cup and saucer, though, and the way she has of lookin' at you over the rim. Say, she's the only girl I ever knew who could talk more'n a minute to a feller without the aid of giggles. There's some sense to what she has to say, too, and all the way you can tell whether she's joshin' or not is by watchin' her eyes. And me, I wa'n't losin' any tricks.

She tells me all about how she's been to school here ever since she was a little girl. Seems she's as shy on parents as I am; but she has an aunt that she lives with between school terms. This is her finishin'

year, and as soon as the final doin's are over she and Aunty are due to sail for Europe.

"Coming back in September?" says I.

"Oh, no indeed!" says she. "Perhaps not for two years."

"Gee!" says I.

"Well?" says she, and I finds myself lookin' square into them big gray eyes of hers.

"Oh, nothing," says I; "only--only it sounds a long ways off. And, say, you don't happen to have a spare photo, do you, maybe one taken in that dress you wore the night of the ball?"

"Silly!" says she. "But suppose I have?"

"Why," says I,--"why, I thought--well, say, it wouldn't do any harm to leave my new address, would it! That's the number, care of Mrs. Zen.o.bia Preble."

"Zen.o.bia!" says she. "Why, I know who she is. Do you live with----"

"I'm half adopted already," says I. "Bully old girl, ain't she? And say, Miss Vee----"

It was just about then I had the feelin' that some one was tryin' to b.u.t.t in on this two-part dialogue of ours, and as I looks up, sure enough there's Mr. Robert, with his eyes wide and his mouth half open, watchin' us.

"Well, it's all over," says I. "Mr. Robert's waitin' for me. Good luck and--and----Oh, what's the use? Give my regards to Europe, will you?

Good-by!" And with that we shakes hands and I breaks away.

"I don't wish to seem curious," says Mr. Robert, as we walks out to his cab, "but--er--is this something recent?"

"Not very," says I. "We've met before."

"Then allow me," says he, "to congratulate you on your good taste."

"Thanks!" says I. "Same to you; and I ain't got so much on you at that, eh?"

We drops the subject there; but Mr. Robert seems so pleased over something or other that we'd gone twenty blocks before he remembers what brought me up.

"Oh, by the way," says he, "I suppose there'll be no end of row about my forgetting to send down those contracts. The Governor was wild, wasn't he?"

"He was wild, all right," says I, "without knowin' whether you'd forgot 'em or not."

"But when you 'phoned him," says Mr. Robert, "of course he----"

"Ah, say!" says I. "Do I look like a trouble hunter? I 'phoned Piddie--told him to sneak 'em out, send 'em down, and keep his mouth shut. All you got to do is act innocent."

Never mind the hot air Mr. Robert pa.s.ses out after that. What tickles me most is the package that came for me yesterday by messenger. I finds it on my plate at dinner time; so both the old ladies was on hand when I opens it.

"Why, Torchy!" says Aunt Martha, lookin' at me shocked and scandalized.

"A young lady's picture!"

"Yep," says I. "Ain't she a dream, though?"

And, say, Martha'd been lecturin' me yet if it hadn't been for Zen.o.bia breakin' in.

"Do remember, Martha," says she, "that you were not always sixty-three years old, and that once----Why, bless me! This must be Alicia Vernon's child. Is there a name on the back? There is! Verona Ashton Hemmingway, heiress to all that is left of poor d.i.c.k's fortune. She's a beauty, just like her mother."

"She's all of that," says I.

It didn't make any diff'rence to Aunt Martha who she was, though. She didn't think it right for young ladies to give away their pictures to young men. She was for askin' me how long I'd known Miss Vee, and----

"There, now, Martha," said Zen.o.bia, "suppose we don't."

That's how it is I can guess who it was blew themselves for a corkin'

big silver frame, and put Vee's picture in it, and stood it on my bureau. Course, Vee's on her way to foreign parts now, and there's no tellin' when she's comin' back. Besides, there ain't anything in it, anyway. But somehow that picture in the silver frame seems to help some.

CHAPTER XV