But, my first glimpse of Clyde soothes me down a lot. He has curly gray hair, also a mustache that's well frosted up. He's a tall, slim built party, with a wide black ribbon to tie him to his eyegla.s.ses.

Seems to be entertainin' Auntie.

"Ah!" says he, inspectin' me casual over the sh.e.l.l rims. "Mr.

Ballard?" And, with a skimpy little nod, he turns back to Auntie and goes on where he broke off, leavin' me to shake hands with myself if I wanted to.

I expect it served me right, cuttin' in abrupt on such a highbrow conversation as that. Something about the pre-Raphael tendencies of the Barbizon school, I think.

Culture! Say, if I'm any judge, Claude was battin' about 400. It fairly dripped from him. Talk about broad o's--he spilled 'em easy and natural, a font to a galley; and he couldn't any more miss the final g than a telephone girl would overlook rollin' her r's. And such graceful gestures with the sh.e.l.l-rimmed gla.s.ses, wavin' 'em the whole length of the ribbon when he got real interested.

I don't think I ever saw Auntie come so near beamin' before. She seems right at home, fieldin' that line of chat. And Vee, too, is more or less under the spell. As for me, I'm on the outside lookin' in. I did manage though, after doin' the dummy act for half an hour, to lead Vee off to the window alcove and get in a few words.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "I don't think I ever saw Auntie come so near beamin'

before. She seems right at home, fieldin' that line of chat. And Vee, too, is more or less under the spell."]

"Who's the professor?" says I.

"Why, he isn't a professor," says Vee.

"He's got the patter," says I. "Old friend of Auntie's, I take it?"

No, it wasn't quite that. Seems the late Mrs. Creighton had been a chum of Auntie's 'way back when they was girls, and the fact had only been discovered when Clyde and Auntie got together a few days before at some studio tea doins'.

"About how late was the late Mrs. C. C.?" says I.

"Oh, he has been a widower for several years, I think," says Vee.

"Poor man! Isn't he distinguished-looking?"

"Ye-e-es," says I. "A bit stagey."

"How absurd!" says she. "Isn't it fascinating to hear him talk?"

"Reg'lar paralyzin'," says I. "I was gettin' numb from the knees down."

"Silly!" says Vee, givin' me a reprovin' pat. "Do be quiet; he is telling Auntie about his wife now."

Yep, he was. Doin' it beautiful too, sayin' what a lovely character she had, how congenial they was, and what an inspiration she'd been to him in his career.

"Indeed," he goes on, "if it had not been for the gentle influence of my beloved Alicia, I should not be what I am to-day."

"Say," I whispers, nudgin' Vee, "what is he to-day?"

"Why," says she, "why--er--I don't quite know. He collects antiques, for one thing."

"Does he?" says I. "Then maybe he's after Auntie."

First off Vee snickers, after which she lets on to be peeved and proceeds to rumple my hair. Clyde catches her at it too, and looks sort of pained. But Auntie's too much interested in the reminiscences to notice. Yes, there's no discountin' the fact that the old girl was fallin' for him hard.

Not that we thought much about it at that time. But later on, when I finds he's been droppin' in for tea, been there for dinner Sat.u.r.day, and has beat me to it again Sunday evenin', I begins to sprout suspicions.

"He seems to be gettin' the habit, eh?" I suggests to Vee.

She don't deny it.

"Who's doin' the rushin'," says I, "him or Auntie?"

Vee shrugs her shoulders. "He came around to-night," says she, "to show Auntie some miniatures of the late Alicia. She asked to see them.

Look! They are examining one now."

Sure enough they were, with their heads close together. And Auntie is pattin' him soothin' on the arm.

"Kind of kittenish motions, if you ask me," says I. "She's gazin' at him mushy, too."

"I never knew Auntie to be quite so absurd," says Vee.

"Say," I whispers, "how about givin' 'em a sample of the b.u.t.t-in act, so they'll know how it seems?"

Vee smothers a giggle.

"Let's!" says she.

So we leaves the alcove and crashes in on this close-harmony duet. Vee has to see the miniatures of Alicia, and she has to show 'em to me.

Also we pulls up chairs and sits there, listenin' with our mouths open, right in the midst of things.

Auntie does her best to shunt us, too.

"Verona," says she, "why don't you and Torchy get out the chafing-dish and make some of that delicious maple fudge you are so fond of."

"Why, Aunty!" says Vee. "When you know I've stopped eating candy for a month."

"You might play something for him," is Auntie's next suggestion. "That new chanson."

"But we'd much rather listen to you and Mr. Creighton," says Vee.

"Hadn't we, Torchy?"

"Uh-huh," says I.

"Quite flattering, I'm sure," puts in Clyde, smilin' sarcastic, while Auntie shoots a doubtful look at me.

But we hung around just the same, and before ten o'clock Creighton announces that he must really be going.

"Me too," says I, cheerful. "I'll ride down with you if you don't mind."

"Oh, charmed!" says Clyde.

It wasn't that I was so strong for his comp'ny, but I'd just annexed the idea that it might be a good hunch to get a little line on exactly who this Mr. Clyde Creighton was. Vee don't seem to know anything very definite about him, outside of the Alicia incident; and it struck me that if there was a prospect of havin' him in the fam'ly, as it were, someone ought to see his credentials. Anyway, it wouldn't do any harm to pump him a bit.

"Pardon me for changing my mind," says Clyde, as we hits the sidewalk, "but I think I prefer to walk downtown."

"Just what I was goin' to spring on you," says I. "Fine evenin' for a little thirty-block saunter, too. Let's see, the Plutoria's where you're staying ain't it?"