Anybody might of thought, to see me sittin' there in the Ellins lib'ry, leanin' back luxurious in a big red leather chair lookin' over the latest magazines, that I'd been promoted from head office boy to heir apparent or something like that. I expect some kids would have stood on one leg in the front hall and held their breath; but why not make yourself to home when you get the chance? I knew the boss was takin' his time goin' through all them papers I'd brought up, and that when he finished he'd send down word if there was any instructions to go back.

That's how I come to get the benefit of all this mushy conversation that begins to drift out from the next room. First off I couldn't make out whether it was some one havin' a tooth plugged, or if it was a case of a mouse bein' loose at a tea party. Course, the squeals and giggles I could place as comin' from Miss Marjorie Ellins. Maybe you remember about Mr. Robert's heavyweight young sister that wanted to play Juliet once?

But who the other party was I didn't have an idea, except that from the "you-alls" she was usin' I knew she must hail from somewhere south of Baltimore.

Anyway, they seemed to be too much excited to sit down while they talked, and the first thing I knew they'd drifted into the lib'ry, their arms twined around each other in a reg'lar schoolgirl clinch, and the conversation just bubblin' out of 'em free.

Miss Marjorie was all got up classy in pink and white, and she sure does look like a wide, corn fed Venus. The other is a slim, willowy young lady with a lot of home grown blond hair, a cute chin dimple, and a pair of big dark eyes with a natural rovin' disposition. And she's hobble skirted to the point where her feet was about as much use as if they'd been tied in a bag.

It was some kind of a long winded story she was tellin' very confidential, with Marjorie supplyin' the exclamation points.

"Really, now, was he, Mildred?" says Marjorie.

"'Deed and 'deedy, he was!" says Mildred. "Positively the handsomest man I ever saw! I thought I could forget him; but I couldn't, Madge, I couldn't! And only think, he is coming this very night, and not a soul knows but just us two!"

"Excuse me," says I; "but I'm Number Three."

"Oh, oh!" they both squeals at once.

"Who—who's that?" whispers Mildred.

"Why it's only Torchy, from Papa's office," says Marjorie. "And oh, Mildred! He is the very one to help us! You will now, won't you, Torchy? Come, that's a dear!"

"Please do, Torchy!" says Mildred, snugglin' up on the other side and pattin' my red hair soothin'.

"Ah, say, reverse English on the tootsy business!" says I. "This ain't any heart-throb matinee. G'wan!"

"Why, Torchy!" says Marjorie, real coaxin' "I thought we were such good friends!"

"Well, I'm willin' to let it go that far," says I; "but don't try to ring in any folksy strangers. I'm here on business for the firm."

Just then too down comes the maid sayin' there wa'n't anything to go back; so I starts to beat it.

I didn't get far, though, with a hundred and ninety pound young lady blockin' the doorway.

"Torchy, you must help us!" says Marjorie. "There isn't anyone else we can ask. And you're always doing such clever things for Papa and Brother Bob!"

Say, it was a puffy lot of hot air she hands out; but I admit that after two or three more speeches like that, and with her promisin' to square anything Piddie might have to say about not comin' back, she had me goin'.

"Well, what's the proposition?" says I.

"Let's tell him all, so he will understand just what he's to do," suggests Marjorie.

And, say, you should have heard them two, with me pinned in between 'em on the couch, givin' me the tale in a sort of chorus, both talkin' to once and beginnin' at diff'rent ends.

"It's such a romance!" squeals Marjorie.

"You see, he's coming to-night," says Mildred, "and nobody knows."

"Yes, I got that all down," says I; "but what's the first part? Who is he and where's he from?"

Well, it's some yarn, all right! Seems that Mildred was a boardin' school chum of Marjorie's who'd come up from Atlanta to spend the summer with friends in Newport. As a wind-up to the season they'd taken her on a yachtin' trip up the coast. Such a poky old trip, too! Nobody aboard but old married folks that played bridge all the time, and one bald headed bachelor who couldn't sit out in the moonlight with her unless he was wrapped up in a steamer rug.

So what was a girl with eyes like Mildred's to do, anyway? She was bein' bored to death, when, as luck would have it, something went wrong with the propeller shaft. The yacht was 'way up off the coast of Maine at the time, and the nearest place where it was safe to anchor was in the lee of a barren, dinky little island. And they stays there three whole days, while the crew tinkers things up below and the folks yawn their heads off.

All but Millie. She got so desp'rate she rowed ashore all by herself. Accordin' to her description, that must have been a perfectly punk little island. It was all rock, except in a few spots where there was some scrub bushes and mangy grass. Plunk in the middle was an old shack of a house surrounded by lobster pots and racks of codfish spread out to dry, and she says it was the smelliest scenery she'd ever got real close to.

But Mildred was sore on the yacht and all the stupid folks on it; so she wanders out to windward of the worst smells, plants herself on the flattest rock she can find, and prepares to read. That's her pose when she looks up and discovers this male party with the sun kissed locks and the dreamy eyes standin' there gazin' at her curious.

"It wasn't Adonis that I called him," says Mildred. "Who was that stunning old Greek that we had the bust of in the school library, Madge?"

"Hermes?" says Marjorie.

"That's it!" says Mildred. "He was a perfect Hermes; only his curly hair was all sun bleached, and his face was tanned a lovely brown, and he had big, broad shoulders, and—and he was smoking a pipe."

"And about his eyes!" prompts Marjorie.

"Oh, they were perfectly stunning," says she, "real sea blue."

Well, anybody that ever read a midsummer fiction number could have supplied the next chapters. Here's the lovely city girl, the noble browed but unsuspectin' native, golden summer days, and no competition. Why, with a catchy title and a few mushy pictures it would make a lovely contribution to one of the leadin' thirty-five-centers, just as it stood. And Mildred knew her cue, all right. She trains them front row eyes of hers on him, opens up with a few lines of lively chatter, and inside of half an hour she has him sittin' picturesque at her feet, callin' him Hermes of the Lobster Pots, and otherwise workin' the siren spell.

"You must have flirted horribly with him," says Marjorie, sighin' deep and admirin'.

"What else could one do?" asks Mildred. "And it was such fun! I could get him to say hardly anything about himself; but he was a charming listener. He would sit and gaze at me in the most soulful, appreciative way. Poor chap!"

He must have had her guessin' some at that; for she wa'n't dead sure whether he was a real native or not until the boss of the island shows up. He's a hump shouldered, leather faced, bushy browed old barnacle, with a Down East dialect that it was a dream to listen to, and it was only when Mildred heard Hermes call him Uncle Jerry that she could believe the two was any relation. Uncle Jerry didn't interfere, though He let 'em moon around on the rocks without disturbin' the game, and I judge from Millie's report that she wa'n't missin' any tricks.

Yet she's right there with the heartless behavior when the time comes, sailin' away with a gay laugh and leavin' her blue eyed young lobster man to yearn and mourn there on his smelly little island. Anyway, that's how she had it doped out.

And it wa'n't until weeks later, when she'd had her snapshots of him developed and printed, and got to summin' up the details in this case of Victim B-23, that she discovers how a few of her own heartstrings has been strained. Somehow she couldn't seem to tear them three August days completely off the calendar; and when the other chappies come buzzin' around, and she had a chance to frame 'em up alongside of this fish island hero, there wa'n't but one answer. It was Hermes for hers, every day in the week!

There he was, though, out on that mussy rock; and here she was, visitin' in New York, leadin' the giddy life, and gettin' her gowns ready for the Horse Show. If Millie had passed out the heartaches casual along her former trails, here was where she gets at least one of 'em back on the rebound.

You can guess how bad an attack she had when she crosses all the new Reggie boys off her string and cooks up this scheme of sendin' for Hermes to come to her. Her excuse is that she wants Uncle Jerry to have the trip of his life by coming to the great city; but incident'lly she urges him to bring his blue eyed nephew along, and the check she sends is big enough to cover expenses for both. Bein' one of the impulsive kind, she does it the minute the notion strikes her; and two days later comes this postal from Uncle Jerry, sayin' how he was much obliged, and him and his nevvy was takin' the boat for Bosting and expected to fetch up in New York sometime next afternoon by train.

"Which is now," says Mildred. "But of course I can't go to the Grand Central to meet him."

"Why not?" says I. "Why balk at a little thing like that when you've been doin' so well?"

"Oh, but, Torchy," chimes in Marjorie, "you know you could do it so much better!"

And what with both of them coaxin', and stuffin' expense money into my pockets, the next thing I know I'm on my way down to where the Boston trains come in, and am campin' outside the gate. I nearly wore my eyes out, too, sizin' up the first trainload, and after an hour's wait I was gettin' dizzy keepin' track of the second lot, when all of a sudden I spots this old chap with the thick underbrush over his eyes and the sole leather complexion.

"Oh, you Uncle Jerry!" I sings out, takin' a chance and pushin' through the crowd with my hand out.

"Wall, how be ye?" says he, real hearty. "Don't remember seein' you afore; but I s'pose it's all right."

"Sure it is, old scout," says I. "If you're Uncle Jerry, I'm Miss Mildred's reception committee; but where's the nephew?"

"That's him," says he, jerkin' his thumb at a big, overgrown, tow haired yawp that's trailin' along in the rear luggin' a canvas valise.

"You don't mean to tell me that's Hermes?" says I.

"I dun'no 'bout any Hermes," says he; "but this is my sister's boy Jake, the only nephew I got, and, bein' as how Miss Mildred asked so special, I brought him along."

Course, there's no accountin' for tastes, specially in a romantic young lady like her; but, if this was her idea of livin' Greek statuary, she sure was easy pleased. Why, of all the rough necked Rubes! He's one of these loose jawed, open mouthed, lop sided youths that walks like he was afraid of steppin' on his own feet, and looks about as much alive as a tin rabbit that can wiggle its ears when you pull a string. His hair and complexion was accordin' to specifications, I admit, and his eyes were as blue as a new set of lunch counter crockery; and if he was all Uncle Jerry could show in the nephew line, then he must be it.

"All right," says I. "It ain't me that's pickin' him. Now fall in line right behind me, and we'll work out where he won't get run down by baggage trucks or be mistaken by excursionists for a spray of autumn leaves."

"Young lady didn't come down to the train, hey?" says Uncle Jerry.

"No, it makes her kind of nervous to see the cars come in," says I. "You're due to meet her this evenin', Uncle, you and Hermes."

You see, accordin' to the plan, I was to stow the pair to some hotel, see that they was fed, keep 'em busy durin' the early part of the evenin', and round 'em up at a big society crush where Marjorie knew the folks well enough so she could ask favors. If Mildred had 'em come where she was visitin', there'd be no end of questions asked; but if she sort of ran across 'em by accident at a place where there was a crowd, and could have a few words with Hermes in some quiet corner, nobody would be the wiser.

It was this last part of the programme I had in mind as I was sizin' up Jake's travelin' costume. And, say, how is it up there in the opodeldoc zone that they can get these high-water pant legs to fit so much like lengths of stovepipe? They was kind of a bilious brown and cut gen'rous in the seat; but, as far as real comic relief went, they wa'n't in it with the cute little short tailed cutaway that he sported above 'em. Honest, that coat was enough to make an eccentric song and dance artist green in the eyes! And you can believe me when I say I didn't lose any time in scootin' 'em down Fourth-ave. to a dollar a day house patronized by some of our swellest Texas buyers. My next move is to make a report over the 'phone.

"Yep, I got 'em both under lock and key," says I to Marjorie. "Trouble to pick em out? Ah, it was a pipe! Specimens like that ain't so common anyone could get mixed if they knew what day to look for 'em. Yes, the nephew's along, all right. His real name is Jake. Well, Hermes if you insist. But, say, ask Miss Mildred if she wants him delivered in the original package, or should I hire some open face clothes for him."

The decision is that Hermes must come in a dress suit, and if he ain't got any with him Marjorie will send down one of Mr. Robert's old ones.

"Oh, I'm just dying to see him in evening clothes!" gushes Mildred over the wire. "I know he'll be perfectly splendid!"

"Maybe," says I. "Only don't forget the collar buttons and studs for the dress shirt."

Say, I won't dwell on the gay time I had tryin' to keep that pair out of sight until after dinner. Honest, if I'd been drivin' the monkey cage in a circus parade I'd felt a lot better; for every fresh gink that pipes off that vaudeville costume of Jake's has to have his say about it. At the hash house where I steers 'em up against a twenty-five-cent course dinner all the girl waiters got to gigglin' like they'd never seen a freak before.

It wouldn't have been so bad with just Uncle Jerry, for he's wearin' an old black whipcord that would pass in the dark, and, outside the rubber collar and the plated watch chain looped across his vest, he didn't have the crossroads tag on him very plain; but Jake might as well have had cowbells tied to him. Maybe I wa'n't some relieved too when we got back to the hotel and found this outfit that the girls had scraped together and sent down.

"Now we'll fix you up for the theater and high society, Jake," says I. "By rights you ought to have some of that neck hemp sheared off; but I don't dare let a barber loose at you, for fear Mildred wouldn't know you after he got through. She raved a lot about that hair of yours, Jake."

"You go on now, Smarty!" says Jaky boy, grinnin' expansive. "Think I'm goin' to wear duds like them?"

"You do if you appear out again with me," says I. "So peel the butternut regalia and lemme see if I can harness you up in these."

"Hee-haw!" remarks Uncle Jerry. "Let him fix you up real harnsome, Jake."

Maybe that's what I did; but I wouldn't want to swear to it. Anyway, I got him into the dress shirt by main strength. That was the first struggle. Then, while Uncle Jerry held him gaspin' and groanin' on the floor, I buttoned the high collar on and fastened the white tie. Next we ended him up on his feet and pulled on the display vest and the long tailed coat.

"Ug-g-gh! It chokes somethin' awful!" says Jake, gettin' purple faced and panicky.

"Ah, close that pie gangway of yours and breathe natural for a minute!" says I. "There, you're feelin' better already. Come, pull them knobby wrists back up into your sleeves. This ain't no swimmin' lesson, you know. Say, you wear a dress suit like it was so much tin armor. What's the matter with you, anyway!"

"I—I don't know," says Jake, tryin' to stretch his head up like a turkey. "I don't like this."

"You look it," says I. "But think who's goin' to see you in it later! First off, though, you're goin' to a show with me. Come on, now; maybe you'll get used to bein' dressed up by eleven o'clock."

"'Leven o'clock!" says Uncle Jerry. "Look here, Son, I ain't in the habit of stayin' up all night, remember. I'll be droppin' off to sleep for sartin'."

He don't, though. All through the play, which has been a two years' scream for Broadway, he sat as solemn as if he was on a coroner's jury in the presence of the remains. Play actin' was new to Uncle Jerry; but he wa'n't going to give himself away, and he was just as wide awake as anybody in the house.

With Jake it was diff'rent. I expect them washed out blue eyes of his had taken in so many new scenes since mornin' that they couldn't absorb any more. Anyway, he gets drowsy before the curtain goes up, and after he's twisted his neck until he's got it collar broken he settles back for a comf'table snooze. He looks so calm and peaceful I didn't have the heart to disturb him, and I only jabbed my elbows in his ribs when he got to tunin' up the nose music too loud. Besides, I was hopin' a little nap of two or three hours might leave him some refreshed and in better shape for exhibitin' to Miss Mildred. For the more I saw of Jake, the less I could understand how a real live one like Millie could stand for three days of him, even if she did, discover him on a desert island. And as for ravin' about him afterwards—well, you never can tell, can you?

After the play it took Uncle Jerry shakin' on one side and me on the other to bring Jake back to life from his woodsawin' act.

"Ah, quit it and give the orchestra a chance!" says I. "And keep them elbows down! Don't try to stretch here; wait until you get back to the open fields for that. Yes, it's all over, and you're about to butt into society; so for Heaven's sake come out of the trance!"

Not havin' a stretcher handy, we drags him out to the curb, and I blows some more of my expense account against a taxi, which lands us safe and sound at this Fifth-ave. number up in the 70's. "Guests of Miss Marjorie Ellins," was to be the password, and the flunky in satin pants at the door seems to have been well posted.

"Yes, sir; right this way, sir," says he, wavin' us down the hall and shootin' us into a little conservatory nook. "The gentlemen from Maine are to wait here, and you are to meet Miss Ellins at the foot of the grand staircase. She will be down in a moment, sir."

"I get you," says I, and, after cautionin' Jake to keep on his feet until I came back, I slips out and posts myself behind a potted palm where I could watch the early arrivals comin' down from the cloakrooms.

It wa'n't a long wait; for pretty soon down floats Mildred and Marjorie, all got up in flossy party dresses and fairly quiverin' with excitement.

"Oh, you dear boy!" gushes Millie. "And he is really here, is he? My splendid Hermes! Tell me, what did he have to say about it all?"

"Who, Jake?" says I. "Mostly he was beefin' about the way his neck ached from the collar."

"Isn't that just like a man!" says Marjorie.

"I don't care," says Mildred. "I am just crazy to see him once more. I want to look into his eyes and——"

"Then step lively," says I, "before they get glued up for good. Down this way. Here you are, in there among the palms! See, there's Uncle Jerry rubberin' around!"

"Oh, yes!" squeals Millie, clappin' her hands. "Dear old Uncle Jerry! But—but, Torchy, where is—er—his nephew?"

"Eh?" says I. "Why, there on the bench, doin' the yawn act!"

"Wha-a-a-at!" gasps Millie, steppin' in for a closer look.

"Straight goods," says I. "That's Hermes the lobster picker."

"That!" says Mildred, shrinkin' back. "Never!"

"Huh!" says I. "I told him you wouldn't know him if he didn't keep that face cavity of his closed. He's been doin' that since eight o'clock. But he's the real article, serial number guaranteed by Uncle Jerry."

"No, no!" squeals Mildred, covering her face with her hands and backin' away. "There's been some dreadful mistake! That isn't my Hermes. He wasn't at all like that, I tell you, not at all!"

Well, we was grouped there in the hall holdin' our foolish debate, when this strange gent strolls by huntin' for some place to light up his cigarette. And just as one of us mentions Hermes again I notices him turn and prick up his ears. Next thing I knew, he's stepped over and is lookin' kind of smilin' and expectant at Mildred.

"I beg pardon if I'm wrong," says he; "but isn't this the—er—ah—the young lady whom I had the pleasure of——"

But that's enough for Millie, just hearin' his voice. Down comes her hands off her face. "Oh, I knew it! I knew it!" she squeals. "Hermes!"

And, say, I don't know how that old Greek looked; but if he had the build and lines of this chap he sure was some ornamental. Anyway, the one we had with us would have been a medal winner in any kind of clothes. Also he had the light wavy hair and the dark blue eyes of Millie's description, with some of the vacation tan left on his cheeks.

Marjorie's the next to be heard from.

"Why, Mr. Brooke Hartley!" says she, stickin' out her hand.

"By Jove!" says he. "Bob Ellins' little sister, eh? Hello, Marjorie!"

"Then—then——" gasps Mildred, lookin' from one to the other kind of dazed, "then you aren't a lobster man, after all?"

"Nothing so useful as that, I'm afraid," says Hartley.

"But why were you there on that island?" she insists.

"Well," says he, "hay fever was my chief excuse. I pretend to paint marines, you know, and that's another; but really I suppose I was just being lazy and enjoying the society of Uncle Jerry."

"But he isn't your uncle, truly?" says Mildred.

"Well," says Hartley, "it's a relationship I share with most of the summer people on that section of the Maine coast."

Then a light seemed to break on Mildred. She blushes to her eartips and hides her face in her hands once more. "Oh, oh!" she groans. "And I called you Hermes!"

"You did," says he. "And nothing ever tickled my vanity half so much. I've lived on that for the last two months. Please don't take it back!"

"I—I won't," says Millie, lettin' loose one of them rovin' glances at him sort of shy and fetchin'.

And, say, all tinted up that way, you could hardly blame him for grabbin' both her hands. Not knowin' what might happen next, I proceeds to break in.

"In the meantime," says I, "what'll you have done with this perfectly good nephew we've got on our hands back there on the bench?"

"That one!" says Millie. "Oh, I never want to see him again! Tell him to go away and—and go to bed."

"That'll be welcome news for Jaky, all right," says I.