Say, after I'd been led up to this faded old relic that's bolstered with pillows in the armchair by the window, and listened to her wavery, cracked voice, I couldn't see anything funny in it at all.

It's a vague, batty sort of talk we had. Mostly it's a monologue by her.

"I am quite annoyed," says she, tappin' the chair arm with her thin, blue-white finger-nails. "My income, you know. It must not be reduced in this way. You must attend to it at once. Those Inter-Lake securities. I've depended on those. Mr. Bagstock gave them to me on our fifth wedding anniversary. Of course, I am not a business woman.

One can't neglect one's social career. But I have always tried to look after my own securities. My father taught me to do that when I was a mere girl. So I wrote about my Inter-Lake Navigation shares. Why should your firm interfere? You say in a few months they will pay as well. But meanwhile? You see, there are my Wednesdays. I can't give them up. What would people say? For years that has been my day. No, no, young man, you must find a way. Tell your firm that I simply must keep up my Wednesdays."

And, as she stops for breath, it's about the first chance I've had to spring anything on her. Old Hickory hadn't told me not to use his name, and was I to blame if he'd overlooked that point?

"Yes'm," says I; "I'll tell Mr. Ellins."

"Who?" says she, steadyin' her wanderin' gaze. "Mr. Ellins?"

"Old Hickory," says I. "He's president of the Corrugated Trust, ma'am."

"Really!" says she. "How odd! I--I used to know a young man of that name--a pushing, presuming, impudent fellow. In fact, he had the audacity to call on me several times. He was quite impossible socially; uncouth, awkward, rough spoken. A mere clerk, I believe.

And I--well, I was rather a belle that season, I suppose. At least, I did not lack suitors. A brilliant season it was for me too, my first.

Our dinners, receptions, dances, were affairs of importance. How this raw Middle-Westerner came to be invited I've forgotten. Through my father, I presume. I had hardly noticed him among so many. At least, I am sure I never gave him an excuse for thinking that he could-- Oh, it was outrageous. I had been trying to dance with him and had given it up. We were in the little conservatory, watching the others, when--well, I found myself in his arms, crushed there. He--he was kissing me violently. I suppose I must have screamed before I fainted.

Anyway, there was a scene. He was given his hat and coat, shown the door. Father was in a rage. Of course, after that he was ostracized.

I never saw him again, never forgave him. And now-- Do you think this can be the same Mr. Ellins? He sent you to me, did he not? Did he mention anything about--"

"Not a word except business," says I. "And I must say that performance don't sound much like the boss."

"Ah!" says the old girl, sighin' relieved. "I am glad to hear you say so. I should not care to have any dealings with him."

She was back in the '70's again, tryin' to look haughty and indignant.

Next minute she was protestin' about her income and announcin' that she must keep up her Wednesdays.

"Yes'm," says I, backin' out; "I'll tell him."

"Well?" says Tessie, as we gets back to the parlor, "Ain't that some bug-house proposition? Got an ear-full, didn't you? And to-morrow we'll-- There's that fool bell again. Oh, it's the doctor. I'll have to take him up. So long."

She let the young doctor in as she let me out. I was half way down the block, too, when I turns and walks back. I waits in the tin runabout until the pill distributer comes out.

"What about the old lady in there?" says I. "Kind of wabbly, ain't she?"

"Oh, she may last a month more," says he. "Wonderful vitality. And then again--oh, any time; like that!" and he snaps his fingers.

Maybe I didn't have some details to give Old Hickory.

"It's a case of better days," says I. "Must have been some society queen and she's never got over the habit. Still playin' the game."

Then I describes the guestless teas she has. But never a smile out of Old Hickory. He listens grim without interruptin'.

"But what about her first name?" he asks at last.

"Oh, sure," says I. "Didn't I mention that? Natalie. And I expect she was some stunner. She's near the finish now, though. Shouldn't wonder but to-morrow might be her last third Wednesday."

"Who says so?" demands Mr. Ellins savage.

"Her doctor," says I.

With that, Old Hickory bangs his fist on the desk.

"Then, by the Lord Harry," says he, "I'd like to make it a good one."

"Eh?" says I, gawpin'.

"Young man," says he, "I don't know whether you have had fool luck or have been particularly clever, but thus far you have handled this affair for me like a diplomat. Now I'm going to ask you to do something more. I don't care to hear another word about Mrs. Bagstock, not a whisper, but--er--here's a check for two hundred dollars. No, I'll make it five. Just take that and see that her silly tea to-morrow is a bang-up affair, with plenty of real guests."

I gasps.

"But, I say, Mr. Ellins," I begins, "how do I--"

"Don't ask me how, young man," he snaps. "What do I know about tea-parties? Do as I tell you."

Say, that's some unique order to shoot at a private sec., ain't it?

And did I make good? Listen. Before nine o'clock that night I had the thing all plotted out and half a dozen people gettin' busy. Course, it's mostly Vee's program. She claps her hands when she hears the tale.

"Why, Torchy!" says she. "Isn't that just splendid! Certainly we can do it."

And when Vee gets enthusiastic over anything it ain't any flash in the pan. It's apt to be done, and done right. She tells me what to do right off the reel. And you should have seen me blowin' that five hundred like a drunken sailor. I charters a five-piece orchestra, gives a rush order to a decorator, and engages a swell caterer, warnin'

Tessie by wire what to expect. Vee tackled the telephone work, and with her aunt's help dug up about a dozen old families that remembered the Bagstocks. How they hypnotized so many old dames to take a trip 'way downtown I don't know; but after Mrs. Tessie McCloud had watched the fourth limousine unload from two to three cla.s.sy-lookin' guests, she near swallowed her gum.

"Muh Gawd!" says she. "Am I seein' things, or is it true?"

Not only dames, but a sprinklin' of old sports in spats and frock-coats and with waxed white mustaches was rounded up; and, with five or six debutantes Vee had got hold of, it's some crusty push.

First off Mrs. Bagstock had been so limp and unsteady on her pins that she'd started in by receivin' 'em propped up in a big chair. But by the time the old parlor got half full and the society chatter cuts loose she seems to buck up a lot.

Next thing I knew, she was standin' as straight as a Fifth Avenue doorman, her wrinkled old chin well up and her eyes shinin'. Honest, she was just eatin' it up. Looked the part, too. A bit out of date as to costume, maybe; but with her white hair piled up high and the diamond-set combs in it, and a cameo as big as a door-k.n.o.b at her throat, and with that grand-d.u.c.h.ess air of hers, hanged if she don't carry it off great. Why, I heard her gossipin' with old Madam Van Pyle as chummy and easy as if it had been only last week since they'd seen each other, instead of near twenty years ago.

Havin' to pay off some of the help, I had to stick around until it was all over. So I was there when she staggers towards Tessie and leans heavy on her shoulder.

"They--they've all gone, haven't they?" she asks. "I--I'm so tired and--and so happy! It has been the most successful Wednesday I've had for some time, hasn't it?"

"Has it?" says Tessie. "Why, Auntie, this was a knockout, one of the kind you read about. Honest, even when I was fittin' corsets for the carriage trade, I never got so close to such a spiffy bunch. But we had the goods to hand 'em--caviar sandwiches, rum for the tea, fizz in the punch. Believe me, the Astors ain't got anything on us now."

Mrs. Bagstock don't seem to be listenin'. She's just gazin' around smilin' vague.

"Music, wasn't there?" she goes on. "I had really forgotten having ordered an orchestra. And such lovely roses! Let me take one more look at the dear old drawing-room. Yes, it was a success, I'm sure.

Now you may ring for my maid. I--I think I will retire."

As they brushed past me on their way to the stairs I took a chance on whisperin' to Tessie.

"Hadn't you better ring up the doc?" I suggests.

"Maybe I had," says she.