Part 22 (1/2)

”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 brus.h.i.+n' 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_.”