Part 31 (1/2)

”Sure thing, it's me,” says I, grabbin' the hands before she could change her mind. ”Say, have a seat, won't you, Miss Vee?”

”Oh, then you haven't forgotten?” says she.

”Me? Forget?” says I. ”Say, Miss Vee, I'll keep right on rememberin'

that spiel we had together until breathin' goes out of fas.h.i.+on--and then some! Gee! but I'm glad you happened along!”

”But how is it,” says she, ”that you----”

”Special commission,” says I. ”I'm waitin' here for Mr. Robert Ellins.”

”Oh!” says she. ”And have you had some salad and sandwiches?”

”No; but I'm ready for 'em now,” says I. ”That is, if----Say, you don't mind doin' this, do you?”

”Why should I?” says she.

”Oh, well,” says I, ”you see I ain't--well, I'm kind of outcla.s.sed here, and I didn't know but some of the other girls might----”

”Let them dare!” says Miss Vee, straightenin' up and glancin' around haughty. My! but she's a thoroughbred! There was one group standin' a little way off watchin' us; but that look of Miss Vee's scattered 'em as though she'd turned the hose on them. Next minute she was smilin'

again. ”You see,” she goes on, sittin' close, ”I'm not much afraid.”

”You're a hummer, you are!” says I, lookin' her over approvin'.

”There, there!” says she. ”I see that you must have something to eat right away. Here, Hortense! There! Now you'll have a cup of tea, won't you?”

”Anything you pa.s.s out goes with me,” says I, ”even to tea.”

It was my first offense in the oolong line, and, honest, I couldn't tell now how it tasted; but I knew all about how Vee handles a cup and saucer, though, and the way she has of lookin' at you over the rim. Say, she's the only girl I ever knew who could talk more'n a minute to a feller without the aid of giggles. There's some sense to what she has to say, too, and all the way you can tell whether she's jos.h.i.+n' or not is by watchin' her eyes. And me, I wa'n't losin' any tricks.

She tells me all about how she's been to school here ever since she was a little girl. Seems she's as shy on parents as I am; but she has an aunt that she lives with between school terms. This is her finis.h.i.+n'

year, and as soon as the final doin's are over she and Aunty are due to sail for Europe.

”Coming back in September?” says I.

”Oh, no indeed!” says she. ”Perhaps not for two years.”

”Gee!” says I.

”Well?” says she, and I finds myself lookin' square into them big gray eyes of hers.

”Oh, nothing,” says I; ”only--only it sounds a long ways off. And, say, you don't happen to have a spare photo, do you, maybe one taken in that dress you wore the night of the ball?”

”Silly!” says she. ”But suppose I have?”

”Why,” says I,--”why, I thought--well, say, it wouldn't do any harm to leave my new address, would it! That's the number, care of Mrs. Zen.o.bia Preble.”

”Zen.o.bia!” says she. ”Why, I know who she is. Do you live with----”