It wa'n't a long wait; for pretty soon down floats Mildred and Marjorie, all got up in flossy party dresses and fairly quiverin' with excitement.

"Oh, you dear boy!" gushes Millie. "And he is really here, is he? My splendid Hermes! Tell me, what did he have to say about it all?"

"Who, Jake?" says I. "Mostly he was beefin' about the way his neck ached from the collar."

"Isn't that just like a man!" says Marjorie.

"I don't care," says Mildred. "I am just crazy to see him once more. I want to look into his eyes and----"

"Then step lively," says I, "before they get glued up for good. Down this way. Here you are, in there among the palms! See, there's Uncle Jerry rubberin' around!"

"Oh, yes!" squeals Millie, clappin' her hands. "Dear old Uncle Jerry!

But--but, Torchy, where is--er--his nephew?"

"Eh?" says I. "Why, there on the bench, doin' the yawn act!"

"Wha-a-a-at!" gasps Millie, steppin' in for a closer look.

"Straight goods," says I. "That's Hermes the lobster picker."

"That!" says Mildred, shrinkin' back. "Never!"

"Huh!" says I. "I told him you wouldn't know him if he didn't keep that face cavity of his closed. He's been doin' that since eight o'clock. But he's the real article, serial number guaranteed by Uncle Jerry."

"No, no!" squeals Mildred, covering her face with her hands and backin'

away. "There's been some dreadful mistake! That isn't my Hermes. He wasn't at all like that, I tell you, not at all!"

Well, we was grouped there in the hall holdin' our foolish debate, when this strange gent strolls by huntin' for some place to light up his cigarette. And just as one of us mentions Hermes again I notices him turn and p.r.i.c.k up his ears. Next thing I knew, he's stepped over and is lookin' kind of smilin' and expectant at Mildred.

"I beg pardon if I'm wrong," says he; "but isn't this the--er--ah--the young lady whom I had the pleasure of----"

But that's enough for Millie, just hearin' his voice. Down comes her hands off her face. "Oh, I knew it! I knew it!" she squeals. "Hermes!"

And, say, I don't know how that old Greek looked; but if he had the build and lines of this chap he sure was some ornamental. Anyway, the one we had with us would have been a medal winner in any kind of clothes. Also he had the light wavy hair and the dark blue eyes of Millie's description, with some of the vacation tan left on his cheeks.

Marjorie's the next to be heard from.

"Why, Mr. Brooke Hartley!" says she, stickin' out her hand.

"By Jove!" says he. "Bob Ellins' little sister, eh? h.e.l.lo, Marjorie!"

"Then--then----" gasps Mildred, lookin' from one to the other kind of dazed, "then you aren't a lobster man, after all?"

"Nothing so useful as that, I'm afraid," says Hartley.

"But why were you there on that island?" she insists.

"Well," says he, "hay fever was my chief excuse. I pretend to paint marines, you know, and that's another; but really I suppose I was just being lazy and enjoying the society of Uncle Jerry."

"But he isn't your uncle, truly?" says Mildred.

"Well," says Hartley, "it's a relationship I share with most of the summer people on that section of the Maine coast."

Then a light seemed to break on Mildred. She blushes to her eartips and hides her face in her hands once more. "Oh, oh!" she groans. "And I called you Hermes!"

"You did," says he. "And nothing ever tickled my vanity half so much.

I've lived on that for the last two months. Please don't take it back!"

"I--I won't," says Millie, lettin' loose one of them rovin' glances at him sort of shy and fetchin'.

And, say, all tinted up that way, you could hardly blame him for grabbin' both her hands. Not knowin' what might happen next, I proceeds to break in.

"In the meantime," says I, "what'll you have done with this perfectly good nephew we've got on our hands back there on the bench?"

"That one!" says Millie. "Oh, I never want to see him again! Tell him to go away and--and go to bed."

"That'll be welcome news for Jaky, all right," says I.

CHAPTER XIX

WHEN MISS VEE THREW THE DARE

Say, I guess I might as well tell it right out; for, from all I hear about myself, my dome must have a gla.s.s top that puts all the inside works on exhibition. There's Zen.o.bia, for instance, who's my half-step-adopted aunt, as you might say. Now, she ain't one to sleuth around, or cross-examine, or anything like that; but what she's missed of this little affair that I ain't breathed a word of to anybody is more'n I've got the nerve to ask.

Course, it was her put that corkin' silver frame on Vee's picture in the first place. Just found it on my bureau, you know, and, without pumpin'

me for any account of who and why, goes and unbelts reckless for the sterling decoration. A perfectly nice old girl, Zen.o.bia is, if you ask me. More'n a year ago that was, and there hasn't been a word pa.s.sed about that photo since.

Yes, it's been on the bureau all the time. Why not? When a young lady friend of yours is dragged off to Europe by her aunt, and sends you a stunnin' picture of herself for you to remember her by, you don't turn it face to the wall or chuck it in the ashcan, do you? Maybe two years it would be, she said, before she came back. It ain't so long to look over your shoulder at; but when you come to try squintin' ahead that far it's diff'rent. I tried it and gave it up. A whole lot can happen in two years; so what was the use? Besides, look who she is, and then think of all I ain't!

Couldn't help seein' the picture there night and mornin', though, could I? Nothin' mushy about glancin' casual at it now and then, was there?

You know I ain't got any too many friends,--not so many I has to have a waitin' list,--and outside of Zen.o.bia and Aunt Martha, and here and there one of the lady typewriters at the office that throws me a smile on and off, they're mostly men. And as for fam'ly, mother, or father, or sisters, or brothers, or real aunts--well, you know how I'm fixed. I'm the whole fam'ly myself.

So you see, when I looks at Miss Vee there, and thinks how nice she was to me them two times when we met by accident,--once at the dance where I was subbin' in the cloakroom, and again at the tea where I'd been sent to trail Mr. Robert--well, even if she hadn't been such a queen, I don't think I'd forgot her right away. Course, though, as for figurin' out why she ever noticed me at all, that's a myst'ry I had to pa.s.s up.

Must have been soon after she went away that I begun sizin' up some critical the gen'ral style and get up of the party whose hair I was combin' and whose face I was washin' more or less reg'lar. Startin' with the collar, I discovered that mine gen'rally had saw edges, gaped in the middle, and got some soiled about the third day. From then on I've been particular about havin' a close front collar and puttin' on a fresh one every mornin', whether I need it or not. Next I got wise to the fact that one tie wouldn't last more'n six months without showin' signs of wear, and it wa'n't long before I had quite a collection hangin' over the gasjet. Up to then I didn't have the tooth powder habit very strong; but it's chronic with me now. See the result?

I didn't stop to give myself reasons for gettin' so finicky; but the one main fact loomin' up ahead seemed to be that some day or other Miss Vee would be comin' back, and that maybe I might be on hand to sort of--well, you know how you'll frame things up? I was to be vice president of the Corrugated by that time, most likely, and they'd be sendin' me abroad to look up important matters. That's how it was goin'

to happen that I'd find out where Vee was stayin'. Not that I'd think of b.u.t.tin' in on her and the aunt. Not much! Just remember I'd seen Aunty!

No, I was to be on the steamer, leanin' over the rail careless, when they came aboard to go home. I was to be costumed all in gray. I don't know just why; but it looks kind of distinguished, specially if you've got gray hair. Not that I could count on my ruddy thatch frostin' up much in a couple of years; but somehow nothing but gray seemed to fill the bill. I'd planned on gettin' one of them gray tweed suits such as Mr. Robert wears back from London, and a long gray ulster that'd make me look tall, and a gray cloth hat to match, and gray gloves. Get the picture?

Well, there I am by the rail, lookin' sort of distinguished and bored and all that, when up comes Miss Vee and Aunty. All I could think of Vee wearin' was that pink silk affair she had on at the dance, which wouldn't be exactly what a young lady'd start out on an ocean trip with, would it?

She'd be some jarred at seein' me, it's likely; but I'd lift the gray lid real dignified, throw back the ulster so she'd get the full effect of the tweed suit, and shoot off some remark about how "one always meets one's most chawming friends when one travels." Then I'd be presented to the aunt; and after that was over, why it would be just a romp down the home stretch, with yours truly all the entry in sight. Simply a case of me and Vee promenadin' the deck by moonlight for hours and hours, and gettin' to be real old friends.