"No wonder she's grown waspy, living a life like that," says Vee.

"Ain't there any way of our duckin' this continuous stingfest, though?"

says I.

"There is something I'd like to try," says Vee, "if you'll promise to help."

"If it's a plan to put anything over on Miss Burr," says I, "you can count on me."

"Suppose it sounds silly?" says Vee.

"Comin' from you," says I, "it couldn't."

"Blarney!" says Vee. "But you've said you'd help, so listen; we'll give a Myra day."

"A which?" says I.

"Come here while I whisper," says she.

I expect that's why it don't sound more'n half nutty, too, delivered that way. For with Vee's chin on my shoulder, and some of that silky straw-colored hair brushin' my face, and a slim, smooth arm hooked chummy through one of mine--well, say; she could make a tabulated bank statement listen like one of Grantland Rice's baseball lyrics. Do I fall for her proposition? It's almost a jump.

"All right," says I. "Not that I can figure how it's goin' to work out, but if that's your idea of throwin' the switch on her, I'm right behind you. Just give me the proper cues, that's all."

"Wait until I hear from my telegram," says Vee. "I'll let you know."

I didn't get the word until Tuesday afternoon, when she 'phones down.

"He's coming," says Vee. "Isn't he the dear, though? So we'll make it to-morrow. Everything you can possibly think of, remember."

As a starter I'd spotted the elevator-boy up at Auntie's. Andrew Zink is his full name, and he's a straight-haired smoke from the West Indies.

We'd exchanged a few confidential comments on Miss Burr, and I'd discovered she was just about as popular with him as she was with the rest of us.

"But for to-morrow, Andy," says I, slippin' him a whole half dollar, "we're goin' to forget it. See? It'll be, 'Oh, yes, Miss Burr.' and 'Certainly, Miss Burr,' all day long, not omitting the little posie you're goin' to offer her first thing' in the mornin'."

Andy tucks away the half and grins.

"Very well, sir," says he. "It'll be quite a lark, sir."

Next I fixed it up with Mike, the doorman. He'd had a little run-in with Myra about not gettin' a taxi quite quick enough for her, so I had to double the ante and explain how this was a scheme Vee was workin'.

"Sure!" says he. "Anything Miss Verona says goes with me. I'll do my best."

The hard part came, though, when I has to invite Myra to this little dinner-party I'm supposed to be givin'. Course, it's Auntie's blow, but she's been primed by Vee to insist that I do the honors. First off, I was goin' to run up durin' lunch hour and pa.s.s it to Cousin Myra in person; but about eleven o'clock I decides it would be safer to use the 'phone.

"Oh!" says she. "I am to be utilized as a chaperon, am I?"

"Couldn't think of anybody who'd do it better," says I; "but, as a matter of fact, that ain't the idea. Auntie's going, you see, and I thought maybe I could induce you to come along, too."

"But I detest hotel dinners," says she.

"Ah, come on! Be a sport!" says I. "Lemme show you what I can pick from the menu. For one item, there'll be _tripe a la mode de Caen_."

"Then I'll come," says Myra. "But how on earth, young man, did you know that--"

"Just wait!" says I. "You got a lot of guessin' besides that. I'll call for you at seven sharp."

So I spent most of my noon hour rustlin' through florist shops to get the particular kind of red roses I'd been tipped off to find. I located 'em, though, and bought up the whole stock, sendin' part to the house and luggin' the rest to the head waiter. While I was at the hotel, too, I got next to the orchestra leader and gave him the names of some pieces he was to spring durin' dinner.

After all, though, it was Auntie who turned the cleverest trick. She'd got real enthusiastic by Wednesday mornin', and what does she do but dash down to the Maison Felice, pick out a two-hundred-dollar evenin' gown, and have it sent up with a fitter. Vee says Myra simply wouldn't open the box for half an hour; but then she softened up, and after she'd been buckled into this pink creation with the rosebud shoulder straps she consents to take one squint at the gla.s.s. Then it develops that Myra is still human. From that to allowin' a hairdresser to be called in was only a step, which explains the whole miracle of how Myra blossomed out.

And say, for a late bloomin' it was a wonder. Honest, when I gets my first glimpse of her standin' under the hall light with Hilda holdin' her opera wrap, I lets out a gurgle. Had I wandered into the wrong apartment? Was I disturbin' some leadin' lady just goin' on for the first act? No, there was Cousin Myra's thin nose and pointed chin. But, with her hair loosened up and her cheeks tinted a bit from excitement, she looks like a different party. Almost stunnin', you know.

Vee nudges me to quit the gawp act.

"Gosh!" I whispers. "Who'd have thought it?"

"S-s-s-sh!" says Vee. "We don't want her to suspect a thing."

I don't know whether she did or not, but when we're towed into the dinin'-room she spots the table decorations right off, and whirls on me.

"Here's plotting, young man," says she. "But if you will tell me how you discovered I was so fond of Louis Philippe roses I'll forgive you."

"Looks like I was a good guesser, don't it?" says I.

"You're good at something, anyway," says Cousin Myra; "but--but why five places?"

She's noticed the extra plate and is glancin' around inquirin'.

"Oh!" says I, offhand, "odd numbers for luck, so I took a chance on askin' in an old friend of yours. He ought to be in the cloak-room by now. I'll go fetch him."

You should have seen the look on her face, too, when I shows up with Professor Hinckley. He's a perfectly good highbrow, understand--pointed face whiskers, s.h.a.ggy forelock, wide black ribbon on his eyegla.s.ses, and all--sort of a mild-eyed, modest appearin' gent, but kind of distinguished-lookin', at that. And you'd never guess how nervous he really was.

"Well, Myra?"' says he, beamin' friendly through his gla.s.ses.

"Lester!" she gasps.

They didn't exactly go to a clinch, but they shook hands so long the waiter had to slide the caviar canape between 'em, and even after we got 'em to sit down they couldn't seem to break off gazin' at each other. As a fond reunion it was a success from the first tap of the bell. They went to it strong.

As for the Profess., he seemed to be knocked clear off his pins. Honest, I don't believe he knew whether he was eatin' dinner or steerin' an airship. I caught him once tryin' to b.u.t.ter an olive with a bread stick, and he sopped up a pink c.o.c.ktail without even lookin' at it. The same thing happened to the one Vee pushed over near his absent-minded hand.

And the deeper he got into the dinner the livelier grew the twinkle in them mild eyes of his.

Cousin Myra, too, was mellowin' fast. The first time she let loose with a laugh, I near fell off my chair; but before long I got used to it.

Next thing I knew, she was smilin' across at me real roguish, and beatin'

time with her finger-tips to the music.

"Ah, ha!" says she. "More of your tricks. I thought the 'Nocturne' was just an accident, but now the 'Blue Danube'--that is your work, young man. Or is it Verona's! Come now, what are you up to, you two over there?"

"Ask Torchy," says Vee, shakin' her head.