It looked like it was Kick-in Day, or something like that; for here was Nutt Hamilton, a sporty young plute friend of Mr. Robert's, that I'm tryin' to entertain, camped in the private office, when fair-haired Vincent comes in off the brass gate to report respectful this new arrival.

"A gentleman to see Mr. Robert, Sir," says he.

"Well, he's still out," says I.

"So I told him, Sir," says Vincent; "but then he asks if Mr. Ferdinand isn't here. I didn't know, Sir. Is there a——"

"Sure, Vincent, sure!" says I. "Brother-in-law Ferdie, you know. What's the gentleman's real name?"

"Mr. Blair Hiscock," says Vincent, readin' the card.

"Ever hear that one?" I asks Hamilton, and he says he ain't. "Must be some fam'ly friend, though," I goes on. "We'll take a chance, Vincent. Tell Blair to breeze in."

I might have had bean enough to have looked for another pair of shell-rimmed glasses too. That's what shows up. Only this party, instead of beamin' mild and foolish through 'em, same as Ferdie does, stares through his sort of peevish. He's a pale-haired, sharp-faced, undersized young gent too, and dressed sort of finicky in one of them Ballyhooly cape coats, an artist necktie, and a two-story soft hat with a striped scarf wound around it.

"Well?" says I, leanin' back in the swing chair and doin' my best to spring the genial smile.

"Isn't Ferdinand here, then?" he demands, glancin' about impatient.

"Good guess," says I. "He ain't. Drifts in about once a month, though, as a rule, and as it's been three weeks or so since he was here last, maybe you'd like to——"

"How absurd!" snaps Blair. "But he was to meet me here to-day at this time."

"Was, eh?" says I. "Well, if you know Ferdie, you can gamble that he'll be an hour or two behind, if he gets here at all."

"Thanks," says Blair, real crisp. "You needn't bother. I fancy I know Ferdie quite as well as you do."

"Oh, I wa'n't boastin'," says I, "and you don't bother me a bit. If you think Ferdie's liable to remember, you're welcome to stick around as long as——"

"I'll wait half an hour, anyway," he breaks in.

"Then you might as well meet Mr. Hamilton," says I. "Friend of Mr. Robert's—Marjorie's too, I expect."

The two of 'em nods casual, and then I notices Nutt take a closer look. A second later a humorous quirk flickers across his wide face.

"Well, well!" says he. "It's Sukey, isn't it?"

At which Mr. Hiscock winces like he'd been jabbed with a pin. He flushes up too, and his thin-lipped, narrow mouth takes on a pout.

"I don't care to be called that," he snaps back.

"Eh?" says Nutt. "Sorry, old man; but you know, up at the camp summer before last—why, everyone called you Sukey."

"A lot of bounders they were too!" flares out Blair. "I—I'd asked them not to. And I'll not stand it! So there!"

"Oh!" says Hamilton, grinnin' tantalizin'. "My error. I take back the Sukey, Mr. Hiscock."

There's some contrast between the pair as they faces each other,—young Hiscock all bristled up bantam like and glarin' through his student panes; while Nutt Hamilton, who'd make three of him, tilts back easy in the heavy office armchair until he makes it creak, and just chuckles.

He's a chronic josher, Nutt is,—always puttin' up some deep and elaborate game on Mr. Robert, or relatin' by the hour the horse-play stunts he's pulled on others. A bit heavy, his sense of humor is, I judge. His idea of a perfectly good joke is to call up a bald-headed waiter at the club and crack a soft-boiled egg on his White Way, or balance a water cooler on top of a door so that the first party to walk under gets soaked by it,—playful little stunts like that. And between times, when he ain't makin' merry around town, he's off on huntin' trips, killin' things with portable siege guns. You know the kind, maybe.

So we ain't the chummiest trio that could be got together. Blair makes it plain that he has mighty little use for me, and still less for Hamilton. But Nutt seems to get a lot of satisfaction in keepin' him stirred up, winkin' now and then at me when he gets a rise out of Blair; though I must say, so far as repartee went, the little chap had all the best of it.

"Let's see," says Nutt, "what is your specialty? You do something or other, don't you?"

"Yes," says Blair. "Do you?"

"Oh, come!" says Nutt. "You play the violin, don't you?"

"How clever of you to remember!" says Blair. "Sorry I can't reciprocate." And he turns his back.

But you can't squelch Hamilton that way. "Me?" says he. "Oh, potting big game is my fad. I got three caribou last fall, you know, and this spring I'm—say, Sukey,—I beg your pardon, Hiscock,—but you ought to come along with us. Do you good. Put some meat on your bones. We're going 'way up into Montana after black bear and silver-tips. I'd like to see you facing a nine-hundred-pound she bear with——"

"Would you?" cuts in Blair. "You know very well I'd be frightened half to death."

"Oh, well," says Nutt, "we'd stack you up against a cinnamon cub."

"Any kind of bear I should be afraid of," says Sukey.

"Not really!" says Hamilton. "Why, say——"

"Please!" protests Blair. "I don't care to talk about such creatures. I'm afraid of them even when I see them caged. I've an instinctive dread of all big beasts. Smile, if you like. But all truly civilized persons feel the same. I'm not a cave man, you know. Besides, I prefer telling the truth about such things to making believe I'm not afraid, as a lot of would-be mighty hunters do."

"Not meaning me, I hope?" asks Nutt.

"If you're innocent, don't dodge," says Blair. "And I—I think I'll not wait for Ferdinand any longer. Tell him I was here, will you?" And with a nod to me he does a snappy exit.

"A constant joy, Sukey is," remarks Hamilton. "Why, when we were up in the Adirondacks that summer, we used to——"

What they used to do to Sukey I'll never know; for just then Mr. Robert sails in, and Nutt breaks off the account. He'd spieled along for half an hour in his usual vein when Mr. Robert flags him long enough to call me over.

"By the way, Torchy," says Mr. Robert, "before I forget it——" and he hands me one of Marjorie's cards with a date and "Music" written in the southwest corner. I gazes at it puzzled.

"I strongly suspect," he goes on, "that a certain young lady may be among those present."

"Oh!" says I, pinkin' up some, I expect. "Much obliged. In that case I'm strong for music. Some swell piano performer, eh?"

"A young violinist," says Mr. Robert, "a friend of Ferdie's, I believe, who——"

"Bet a million it's Sukey!" breaks in Nutt. "Blair Hiscock, isn't it!"

"That is his name," admits Mr. Robert. "But this is to be nothing formal, you know: only Marjorie is bringing him down to the house, and has asked in a few people."

"By George!" says Nutt, slappin' his knee enthusiastic. "Couldn't you get me in on that affair, Bob?"

"Why—er—I might," says Mr. Robert. "I didn't know, though, that you were passionately fond of violin music. It's to be rather a classical programme, and——"

"Classic be blowed!" says Nutt. "What I want is a fair whack at Sukey. Seen him, haven't you?"

Mr. Robert shakes his head.

"Well, wait until you do," says Hamilton. "Say, he's a rare treat, Sukey. About as big as a fox terrier, and just as snappy. Oh, you'll love Sukey! If he doesn't hand you something peppery before you've known him ten minutes, then I'm mistaken. Know what he used to call your sister Marjorie, summer before last? Baby Dimple! After a golf ball, you know. That's a sample of Sukey's tongue."

Mr. Robert shrugs his shoulders. "Quite her own affair, I suppose," says he.

"Oh, she didn't mind," says Nutt. "Everyone stands for Sukey—on account of his music. Only he is such a conceited, snobbish little whelp that it makes you ache to cuff him. Couldn't, of course. Why, he'll begin sniveling if you look cross at him! But it would be great sport to—— Say, Bob, who's going to be there—anyone special?"

"Only the family," says Mr. Robert, "and a few of Marjorie's friends, such as Verona Hemmingway and—er—Torchy here, and Josephine Billings, who's just come for the week-end."

"What!" says Hamilton. "Joey Billings? Say, she's a good sort, Joey; bully fun, and always in for anything. You ought to see her shoot! Yes, Sir! Bring down quail with a choke-bore, or knock over a buck deer with a rifle. Plays billiards like a wizard, Joey does, and can swat a golf ball off the tee for two hundred yards. She's a star. Staying at Ferdie's, eh? Must be a great combination, she and Sukey. I'd like to see 'em together. Say, old man, let me in on this musicfest if you can, will you?"

Course there wa'n't much left for Mr. Robert to do but promise, and while he don't do it with any great enthusiasm, Mr. Hamilton don't seem a bit discouraged. In fact, just before he goes he has a chucklin' fit like he'd been struck by some amazin' comic thought.

"I have it, Bob!" says he, poundin' Mr. Robert on the back. "I have it!"

"Anything you're likely to recover from?" remarks Mr. Robert.

"Never mind," says Nutt. "You wait and see! And the first chance you get ask Sukey if he's afraid of bears."

Just to finish off the afternoon too, and make the Corrugated gen'ral offices seem more like a fam'ly meetin' place, about four o'clock in blows Sister Marjorie from the shoppin' district, trailin' a friend with her; a stranger too. First off, from a hasty glimpse at the hard-boiled lid and the man's collar and the loose-fittin' top coat, I thought it was some chappy. So it's more or less of a shock when I discovers the short skirt and the high walkin' boots below. Then I tumbled. It's Joey, the real sport!

Believe me, she looked the part! One of these female good fellows, you know, ready to roll her own dope sticks, or sit in with the boys and draw three to a pair. Built substantial and heavy, Joey was, but not lumpy, like Marjorie. She swings in swaggery, gives Mr. Robert the college hick greetin', and when I'm introduced to her treats me to a grip that I felt the tingle of for half an hour.

"Hello, Kid!" says she. "I've heard of you. Torchy, eh? Well, the name's a fine fit."

"Yes," says I, "I was baptized with my hat off."

"Ripping!" says she. "I like that. Torchy! Couldn't be better."

"Not so poetic as Crimson Rambler," says I, "but easier to remember."

Hearty chuckles from Joey. "You're all right, Torchy," says she, rumplin' my hair playful.

Not at all hard to get acquainted with, Joey. One of the free and easy kind that gets to call men by their front names durin' the first half-hour. But somehow them's the ones that always seem to hang longest on the branch. You've noticed? Take Joey now,—well along towards thirty, so I finds out later, but still untagged and unchosen. Maybe she likes it better that way. Who knows? And, as Nutt Hamilton has suggested, it would be int'restin' to see her and Sukey lined up together.

That ain't exactly why I'm so early showin' up at the Ellins' house the night of the musical—not altogether. But what Vee and I has to say to one another durin' the half-hour we managed to slip over on Aunty don't matter. Vee was supposed to be arrangin' some flowers in the drawin' room, and I—well, I was helpin'. My long suit, arrangin' flowers; that is, when the planets are right.

But it goes quick. Pretty soon others begun buttin' in, and by eight-thirty there was a roomful, includin' Vee's Aunty, who watches me as severe as if I was a New Haven director. Joey Billings floats in too. And I got to admit that in an evenin' gown she ain't such a worse looker. Course her jaw outline is a trifle strong, and she has quite a swing to her hips; but she's so good-natured and cheerful lookin' that you 'most forget them trifles.

And Blair Hiscock, in his John Drew regalia, looks even thinner and whiter than ever; but he struts around as perky and important as if he was Big Bill Edwards. First off he has to have the piano turned the other way. Then, when he goes to unlimber his music rack, it develops that a big vase of American Beauties is too near his elbow. He glares at 'em pettish.

"Can't those things be taken out?" says he. "I detest heavy odors while I'm playin'!"

So the flowers are carted off. Then some draperies just back of him must be pulled together, so he won't feel a draught. After that he has the usual battle with his violin strings, while the audience waits patient, only exchangin' a smile now and then when Blair shows his disposition strongest.

At last, though, after makin' the accompanist take two fresh starts, he's off. Some goulash rhapsody, I believe it was, by a guy whose name sounds like a sneezin' fit. But, take it from me, that sharp-faced little wisp could do things to a violin! Zowie! He could just naturally make it sing, with weeps and laughs, and moans and giggles, and groans and cusswords, all strung along a jumpy, jerky little air that sort of played hide and seek with itself. Music? I should quiver! He had us all sittin' up with our ears stretched, and when he finishes and the applause starts in like a sudden shower on a tin roof what does he do but turn away with a bored look and shoot some spicy remark at the young lady pianist!

Next he gives a lullaby kind of thing, that's as sweet and touchin' as anything Farrar or Gluck could put over. He's just windin' that up and we're gettin' ready with more handclaps, when——

"Woof! Woof-woof!"

Some of the ladies gasps panicky. I got a little start myself, before I tumbled to what it was; for in through the draperies behind Sukey has shuffled about as good an imitation of a black bear as you'd want to see; a big, bulky bear, all complete, even to the dishpan paws and the wicked little eyes. It's scuffin' along on all-fours, waddlin' lifelike from side to side and lettin' out that deep, grumbly "Woof! Woof!" remark.

Blair is so deep in his music that he don't hear it for a minute. Then he must have caught on from the folks in front that something was up. He stops, glarin' indignant through his big glasses. Then he turns.

It wa'n't exactly a scream he lets out, nor a moan. It's the sort of a weird, muffled noise you'll sometimes make in your sleep, after a late welsh rabbit. I didn't think he could turn any whiter; but he does. His face has about as much color left in it as a marshmallow.

Then the thing on the floor rears up on its hind legs until it tops Blair by two feet, and there comes another of them deep "Woofs!"

I was lookin' for him to pass away complete; but he don't. He sets his jaw, tosses his violin on a chair, grabs the music rack, and swings it over his shoulder defiant.

"Come on, you brute!" he breathes husky. "I don't know what you are; but——"

Just what happens next, though, is a cry of "Shame, shame!" Someone dashes from the back row of chairs, and we sees Joey Billings makin' a clutch at the bear's head. It came off too, with a rip of snap hooks, and reveals Nutt Hamilton's big moon face with a wide grin on it.

"You, eh?" says Joey. "I thought as much. Your old masquerade trick! And anyone else would have had better sense. Don't you think you're beast enough without——"

"Stop!" breaks in Blair, his lips blue and trembly and the tears beginnin' to trickle down his nose. "You—you've no right to interfere. I—I was going to smash him. I'll kill the big brute! I—I'll——"

Once more Joey does the right thing; for Blair is blubberin' hysterical and the scene is gettin' worse. So she just tucks him under one arm, claps a hand over his mouth, and lugs him kickin' and strugglin' into the lib'ry, givin' Nutt a shove to one side as she brushes by.

You can guess too there was some panicky doin's in the Ellins's drawin' room for the next few minutes; Mr. Robert and Marjorie and others tryin' to tell Hamilton what they thought of him, all at the same time. And Nutt was takin' it sheepish.

"Oh, I say!" he protests. "I was only trying to have a bit of fun with the little runt, you know. I only meant to——"

"Fun!" breaks in Mr. Robert savage. "This is neither a backwoods barroom nor a hunting camp, and I want to assure you right now, Hamilton, that——"

But in comes young Blair again. He's had the tear stains swabbed off, and he's got some of his color back; but he's still wabbly in the knees. He pushes right to the front, though.

"I suppose you all think me a great baby," says he, "to get so frightened and to cry over such a silly trick. Perhaps I am a baby. At least I haven't control of my nerves. Would you, though, if you had been an invalid for fifteen years? Well, I have. And a good part of that time, you know, I spent in hospitals and sanatoriums, and traveling around with trained nurses and three or four relatives to wait on me and humor my whims. Even when I was studying music abroad it was that way. And I suppose I'm not really strong now. So I couldn't help being afraid. But I don't want your sympathy. You need not scold Hamilton any more, either. He can't help being a big bully any more than I can help acting like a baby. He doesn't know any better—never will. All beef and no brains! And at that I don't care to change places with him. Some day I shall be well and fairly strong. He'll never have any better sense or manners than he has now. And I prefer to fight my own battles. So let it drop, please."

Well, they did. But for the first time, I expect, a few cuttin' remarks got through Nutt Hamilton's thick hide. He shuffles out of his bear skin and sneaks off with his head down.

He'd hardly gone when Vee slips up beside me and touches me on the arm. "We can't do anything with her," she whispers mysterious. "Don't say a word, but come."

"Can't do anything with who?" says I.

"Joey," says she. "She's in the library, and we can't find out what is the matter."

"Wha-a-at! Joey?" says I.

It's a fact, though. I finds Joey slumped on a couch with her shoulders heavin'. She's doin' the sob act genuine and earnest.

"Well, well!" says I. "Why the big weeps?"

She looks up and sees who it is. "Torchy!" says she between sobs. "Dud-don't tell him. Please!"

"Tell who?" says I.

"B-b-b-blair," says she. "I—wouldn't have him know for—for anything. But he—he—what he said hurt. He—he called me a meddlesome old maid. It was something I had to do too. I—I thought he'd understand. I—I thought he knew I—I liked him!"

"Eh?" says I gaspy.

"I've never cared so much before—about what the others thought," she goes on. "I'm just Joey to them, out for a good time. I'll always be Joey, I suppose, to most of them. But I—I thought Blair was different, you know. I—I——"

And the sobs get the best of the argument. I glances over at Vee puzzled, and Vee shrugs her shoulders. We drifts back as far as the door.

"Poor Joey!" says Vee.

"Is it straight," says I, "about her and Blair?"

Vee nods. "Only he doesn't know," says she.

"Then it's time he did," says I.

"There!" says Vee, givin' me a grateful look that tingles clear down to my toes. "I just knew you could help. But how can——"

"Watch!" says I.

I finds him packin' his precious violin and preparin' to beat it.

"See here, Hiscock," says I. "Maybe you think you're the only one whose feelin's have been hurt this evenin'."

He stares at me grouchy.

"Ah, ditch the assault and battery!" says I. "It ain't me. But there's someone in the lib'ry you could soothe with a word or two maybe. Why not go in and see her?"

"Her?" says he, starin' pop-eyed. "You—you don't mean Miss Billings?"

"Sure!" says I. "Joey, it's you she wants, and if I was you I'd——" But he's off on the run, with a queer, eager look on his face. I don't expect there's been so many who've wanted Sukey.

But the worst of it was I had to go without hearin' how it all come out. Mr. Robert didn't have much to report next mornin', either. "Oh, we left them in the library, still talking," says he.

It's near a week later too that I gets anything more definite. Then I was up to the Ellins's on an errand when I discovers Blair waitin' in the front room. He greets me real cordial and friendly, which is quite a jar. A minute later down the stairs floats Marjorie and her friend Miss Billings.

"Oh, there you are, Joey!" says Blair, rushin' out and grabbin' her by the arm impetuous. "Come along. I'm going to take you both to dinner and then to the opera. Come!"

"Isn't he brutal?" laughs Joey, pattin' him folksy on the cheek.

So I take it there's been something doin' in the solitaire and wilt-thou line. Some cross-mated pair they'll make; but I ain't so sure it won't be a good match.

Anyway, when he gets her as a side partner, Sukey needn't do any more worryin' about bears.