Part 11 (1/2)

”Ah, thanks,” says he, ”North exit, did you say? Let's see, that is--er----”

”'Bout face!” says I, takin' him in tow. ”Now guide right! Hep, hep, hep--parade rest--here you are! And here's the blank you write it on.

Now go to it!”

”I--er--but I'm not quite sure,” protests Ferdie, peelin' off one of his chamois gloves, ”I'm not quite sure of just what I ought to say.”

”That bein' the case,” says I, ”it's lucky you ran into me, ain't it?

Now what's the argument?”

Course it was a harrowin' crisis. Him and Marjorie had got an invite some ten days ago to spend the week-end at a swell country house over on Long Island. They'd hemmed and hawed, and fin'lly ducked by sendin' word they was so sorry, but they was expectin' a young gent as guest about then. The answer they got back was, ”Bring him along, for the love of Mike!” or words to that effect. Then they'd debated the question some more. Meanwhile the young gent had canceled his date, and the time has slipped by, and here it was almost Sat.u.r.day, and nothin' doing in the reply line from them. Marjorie had thought of it while they was havin'

lunch in town, and she'd chased Ferdie out to send a wire, without tellin' him what to say.

”And you want someone to make up your mind for you, eh?” says I. ”All right. That's my long suit. Take this: 'Regret very much unable to accept your kind invitation'--which might mean anything, from a previous engagement to total paralysis.”

”Ye-e-es,” says Ferdie, hangin' his bamboo stick over his left arm and chewin' the penholder thoughtful, ”but Marjorie'll be awfully disappointed. I think she really does want to go.”

”Ah, squiffle!” says I. ”She'll get over it. Whose joint is it, anyway?”

”Why,” says he, ”the Pulsifers', you know.”

”Eh?” says I. ”Not the Adam K.'s place, Cedarholm?”

Ferdie nods. And, say, it was like catchin' a chicken sandwich dropped out of a clear sky. The Pulsifers! Didn't I know who was there? I did!

I'd had a bulletin from a very special and particular party, sayin' how she'd be there for a week, while Aunty was in the Berks.h.i.+res. And up to this minute my chances of gettin' inside Cedarholm gates had been null and void, or even worse. But now--say, I wanted to be real kind to Ferdie!

”One or two old friends of Marjorie's are to be there,” he goes on dreamy.

”They are?” says I. ”Then that's diff'rent. You got to go, of course.”

”But--but,” says he, ”only a moment ago you----”

”Ah, mooshwaw!” says I. ”You don't want Marjorie grumpin' around for the next week, do you, wis.h.i.+n' she'd gone, and layin' it all to you?”

Ferdie blinks a couple of times as the picture forms on the screen.

”That's so,” says he. ”She would.”

”Then gimme that blank,” says I. ”Now here, how's this, 'Have at last arranged things so we can come. Charmed to accept'? Eh?”

”But--but there's Baby's milk,” objects Ferdie. ”Marjorie always watches the nurse sterilize it, you know.”

”Do up a gallon before you leave,” says I.

”It's such a puzzling place to get to, though,” says Ferdie. ”I'm sure we'd never get on the right train.”

”Whadye mean, train,” says I. ”Ah, show some cla.s.s! Go in your limousine.”

”So we could,” says Ferdie. ”But then, you know, they'll be expectin' us to bring an extra young man.”

”They needn't be heartbroken over that,” says I. ”You didn't say who he was, did you?”