Believe me, this job of bein' private sec. all day and doublin' as assistant Cupid after hours may be entertainin' and all that, but it ain't any drowsy detail. Don't leave you much time for restin' your heels high or framin' up peace programmes. Course, the fact that Vee is in with me on this affair between Mr. Robert and Miss Hampton is a help. I ain't overlookin' that.

And after our mix-up yachtin' cruise, when we lost a mast and Bernard Shaw overboard the same day, it looked like we'd got everything all straightened out. Why not? Mr. Robert seems to have decided that his lady-love wa'n't such a confirmed highbrow as he'd suspected, and he was doin' the steady comp'ny act constant and enthusiastic, just the way he does everything he tackles, from yacht racin' to puttin' a crimp in an independent. In fact, he wa'n't doin' much else.

"Where's Robert?" demands Old Hickory, marchin' out of his private office and glarin' at the closed roll-top.

"I expect he's takin' the afternoon off," says I, maybe grinnin' a bit.

"Huh!" says the boss. "The second this week! I thought that fool regatta was over."

"Yes, sir, it is," says I. "Besides, he didn't enter."

"Oh!" says Mr. Ellins. "Then it isn't a case of a sixty-footer!"

"The one he's tryin' to manage now is about five-foot six," says I.

"Eh?" says Old Hickory, workin' his eyebrows. "That Miss Hampton again?"

I nods.

"Torchy," he goes on, "of course I've no particular right to be informed, being only his father, but—er—about how much longer should you say that affair would run before it comes to some sort of climax? In other words, how is he getting on?"

"The last I knew," says I, "he was comin' strong. Course, he made a couple of false starts there at the send-off, but now he seems to have struck his gait."

"Really!" says Old Hickory. "And now, solely in the interest of the Corrugated Trust, could you go so far as to predict a date when he might reasonably be expected to resume business activities?"

I chews that over a minute, and runs my fingers thoughtful through my red thatch.

"Nope," says I. "If I was any such prize guesser as that, I'd be down in Wall Street buckin' the market. Maybe after Sunday, though, I might make a report one way or the other."

"Ah! You scent a crisis, do you?" says he.

"It's this way," says I. "Marjorie's givin' a little week-end house party for 'em out at her place, and—well, you know how that's apt to work out at this stage of the game."

"You think it may end the agony?" says he.

"There'll be a swell chance for twosin'," says I. "Marjorie's plannin' for that."

"I see," says Mr. Ellins. "Undisturbed propinquity—a love charm that was old when the world was young. And if Marjorie is managing the campaign, it's all over with Robert."

That was my dope on the subject too, after I'd seen the layout of her first skirmish. There was just half a dozen of us mobilized at this flossy suburban joint Saturday afternoon, but from the start it was plain that four of us was on hand only to keep each other out of the way of this pair. Course, Vee and I hardly needs to have the cue passed. We were satisfied to hunt up a veranda corner of our own and stick to it.

But Brother-in-law Ferdie, with that doubleply slate roof of his, needs watchin' close. He has a nutty idea that he ought to be sociable, and he no sooner spots Mr. Robert and Miss Elsa Hampton, chattin' cozy in a garden nook, than he's prompted to kick in and explain to 'em all about the Latin names of the surroundin' vines and shrubbery. Which brings out business of distress from Marjorie. So one of us has to go shoo him away.

"Why—er—what's the matter?" says he, blinkin' puzzled, after he's been led off.

"You was makin' a noise like a seed catalogue, that's all," says I. "Chop it, can't you?"

Ferdie only stares at me through his thick window-panes and puts on an injured air. Half an hour later, though, he's at it again.

"You tell him, Torchy," sighs Marjorie. "Try to make him understand."

So I makes a strong stab.

"Look," says I, towin' him off on a thin excuse. "That ain't any convention they're holdin' out there. So far as they know, it's just a happy chance. If they're let alone the meetin' may develop tender moments. Anyway, you might give 'em a show, and if they want you bad they can run up a flag. See? There's times, you know, when two is bliss, but a third is a blister. Get me?"

I expect he did, in a way. The idea filters through sort of slow, but he finally decides that, for some reason too deep for him to dig up, he ain't wanted mixin' around folksy.

So from then on until dinnertime our couple had all the chance in the world. Looked like they was doin' noble, too; for every once in a while we could hear that ripply laugh of hers, or Mr. Robert's hearty chuckle—which should have been good signs that they was enjoyin' each other's comp'ny. We even had to send out word it was time to doll up for dinner.

But an affair like that is like a feather balanced on your nose. Any boob is liable to open a door on you. In this case, all was lovely and serene until Marjorie gets this 'phone call. I hears her summonin' Vee panicky and sketchin' out the details.

"It's Ella May Buell!" says she. "She's down at the station."

Seems that Miss Buell was a boardin'-school friend who was about to cash in one of them casual blanket invitations that girls give out so reckless—you know, the Do-come-and-see-me-any-time kind. And, with her livin' down in Alabama or Georgia somewhere, maybe it looked safe at the time. But now she was on her way to the White Mountains for a summer flit, and she'd just remembered Marjorie for the first time in three years.

"Goodness!" says Marjorie, whisperin' husky across the hall. "Someone ought to go right down to meet her. I can't, of course; and Ferdie's only begun to dress."

"Ask Torchy," suggests Vee.

And, as I'm all ready except another half hitch to my white tie, I'm elected. Three minutes more and I'm whizzin' down in the limousine to receive the Southern delegate. And say, when I pipes the fairy in the half-masted skirt and the zippy Balkan bonnet, I begins bracin' myself for what I could see comin'.

One of these pouty-lipped, rich-tinted fairies, Ella May is, wearin' a baby stare and chorus-girl ear-danglers. Does she wait to be hunted up and rescued? Not her! The minute I drops out of the machine, she trips right over and gives me the hail.

"Are you looking for me?" says she. "I hope you are, for I've been waiting at this wretched station for ages."

"If it's Miss Buell, I am," says I.

"Of course I'm Miss Buell," says she. "Help me in. Now get my bags. They're inside, Honey."

"Inside what?" I gasps.

"Why, the station," says she. "And give the man a quarter for me—there's a dear."

Talk about speed! Leave it to the Dixie girls of this special type. I used to think our Broadway matinÉe fluffs was about the swiftest fascinators using the goo-goo tactics. But say, when it comes right down to quick action, some of these cotton-belt belles can throw in a high gear that makes our Gwendolyns look like they was only hittin' on odd cylinders. Ella May was a sample. We was havin' our first glimpse of each other, but in less 'n forty-five seconds by the watch she'd called me honey, dearied me twice, and patted me chummy on the arm. And we hadn't driven two blocks before she had me snuggled up in the corner like we was old friends.

"Tell me, Honey," says she, "what is dear old Marjorie's hubby like?"

"Ferdie!" says I. "Why, he's all right when you get to know him."

"Oh!" says she. "That kind! But aren't there any other men around?"

"Only Mr. Robert Ellins," says I.

"Really!" says she, her eyes widenin'! "Bob Ellins! That's nice. I met him once when he came to see Marjorie at boarding school. I was such an infant then, though. But now——"

She dives into her vanity bag and proceeds to retouch the scenic effects on her face.

"Don't waste it," says I. "He's sewed up—a Miss Hampton. She's there, too."

"Pooh!" pouts Miss Buell. "Who cares? She doesn't keep him in a cage, does she?"

"It ain't that," says I; "but his eyesight for anyone else is mighty poor."

"Oh, is it?" says she, sarcastic and doubtful. "We'll see about that. But, anyway, I'm beginning to be glad I came. Can you guess why?"

"I'm a wild guesser," says I. "Shoot it."

"Because," says she, "I think I'm going to like you rather well."

More business of cuddlin', and a hand dropped careless on my shoulder. We were still more 'n a mile from the house, and if I was to do any blockin'-off stunt, it was high time I begun. I twists my head around and gazes at the careless hand.

"Excuse me, sister," says I, "but before this goes any further I got to ask a question. Are your intentions serious?"

"Why, the idea!" says she. "What on earth do you mean?"

"I only want to be sure," says I, "that you ain't tryin' to trifle with my young affections."

She stiffens at that and goes a little gaspy. Also she grabs away the hand.

"Of all the conceit!" says she. "Anyone might think that—that——"

"So they might," says I. "Of course, it's sweet to be picked out this way; but it's a little sudden, ain't it? You know, I'm kind of young and——"

"I've a great mind to box your ears!" breaks in Ella May.

"In that case," says I, "I couldn't even promise to be a brother to you."

"Wretch!" says she, her eyes snappin'.

"Sorry," says I, "but you'll get over it. It may be a little hard at first, but in time you'll meet another who will make you forget."

That last jab had her speechless, and all she could do was run her tongue out at me. But it worked. After that she snuggled in her own corner, and when we lands at the house she's treatin' me with cold disdain, almost as if I'd been a reg'lar brother. There's no knowin', either, what report Marjorie got. Must have been something interestin', for when she finally comes down after steerin' Miss Buell to her room, she gives me the knowin' wink.

Ella May gets even, though. She holds up dinner forty-five minutes while she sheds her travelin' costume for an evenin' gown. And it's some startlin' creation she springs on us about the time we're ready to bite the glass knobs off the dinin'-room doors. She's a stunner, all right, and she sails down with that baby stare turned on full voltage.

You'd most thought, though, with all the hints me and Marjorie had dropped, and her seein' Mr. Robert and Miss Hampton chattin' so busy together, that she'd have hung up the net and waited until she struck better huntin' grounds. But not Ella May. Here was a perfectly good man; and as long as nobody had handcuffs on him, or hadn't guarded him with barbed wire, she was ready to take a chance.

Just how she managed it I couldn't say, even if it was done right under my eyes; but when we starts in for dinner she's clingin' sort of playful to one side of Mr. Robert, chatterin' a steady stream, while Miss Hampton is left to drift along on the other, almost as if she was an "also-ran."

Mr. Robert wa'n't havin' such a swell time that meal, either. About once in three or four minutes he'd get a chance to say a few words to Miss Hampton, but most of the time he was busy listenin' to Ella May. So was the rest of us, in fact. Not that she was sayin' anything important or specially interestin'. Mainly it's snappy personal anecdotes—about Ella May, or her brother Glenn, or Uncle Wash Lee, the Buell fam'ly butler. Or else she's teasin' Mr. Robert about not rememberin' her better, darin' him to look her square in the eyes, and such little tricks.

Say, she was some whirlwind performer, take it from me. I discovers that everybody was "Honey" to her, even Ferdie. And you should have seen him tint up and glance panicky at Marjorie the first time she put it over on him.

As for Miss Hampton, she appears to be enjoyin' the whole thing. She watches Miss Buell sparkle and roll her eyes, and only smiles sort of amused. For what Ella May is unlimberin' is an attack in force, as a war correspondent would put it—an assault with cavalry, heavy guns, and infantry. And, for all his society experience, Mr. Robert don't seem to know how to meet it. He acts sort of dazed and helpless, now and then glancin' appealin' across to Sister Marjorie, or around at Miss Hampton.

All that evenin' the attack goes on, Ella May workin' the spell overtime, gettin' Mr. Robert to let her read his palm, pinnin' flowers in his buttonhole, and keepin' him cornered; while the rest of us sits around like cheap deadheads that had been let in on passes.

And next mornin', when Mr. Robert makes a desperate stab to duck right after breakfast, only to be captured again and led into the garden, Marjorie finally gets her mad up.

"Really," says she, "this is too absurd! Of course, she always was an outrageous flirt. You should have seen her at boarding school—with the music professor, the principal's brother, the school doctor. Twice they threatened to send her home. But after I've told her that Robert was practically engaged to Miss Hampton—well, it must be stopped, that's all. Ferdie, can't you think of some way?"

"Eh?" says Ferdie. "What? How?"

That's the sort of help he contributes to this council of war Marjorie's called on the side terrace.

And all Vee will do is to chuckle. "It's such, a joke!" says she.

"But it isn't," says Marjorie. "Do you know where Elsa Hampton is at this minute? In the library, reading a magazine—alone! And she and Robert were getting on so nicely, too. Torchy, can't you suggest something?"

"Might slip out there with a rope and tie her to a tree while Mr. Robert makes his escape," says I.

A snicker from Vee.

"Please!" says Marjorie. "This is really serious. I can't explain to Elsa. But what must she think of Robert? I've simply got to get rid of that girl somehow. She's one of the kind, you know, who would stay and stay until——"

"Hello!" says I, glancin' out towards the entrance-gates. "What sort of a delegation is this?"

A tall, loppy young female in a sagged skirt and a faded pink shirtwaist is driftin' up the driveway, towin' a bow-legged three-year-old boy by one hand and luggin' a speckle-faced baby on her hip.

"Oh!" says Marjorie. "That scamp of a Bob Flynn's Katie again."

Seems Flynn had been one of Mr. Robert's chauffeurs that he'd wished onto Ferdie a year or so back on account of Flynn's bein' married and complainin' he couldn't support his fam'ly in the city. If he could get a place in the country, where the rents wa'n't so high and his old chowder-party friends wa'n't so thick, Flynn thought he might do better. He had steadied down for a while, too, until he took a sudden notion to slope and leave his interestin' fam'ly behind.

"She's coming to ask if we've heard anything of him," goes on Marjorie. "I've a good notion to send her straight to Robert."

"Say," says I, havin' one of my thought-flashes, "wait a minute. We might—do I understand that the flitting hubby's name was Robert?"

Marjorie nods.

"And will you stand for anything I can pull off that might jar Ella May's strangle-hold over there!"

"Anything," says Marjorie.

"Then lend me this deserted fam'ly for a few minutes," says I. "I ain't had time to sketch out the plot of the piece exactly, but if you say so I'll breeze ahead."

It was going to be a bit raw, I'll admit; but Marjorie has insisted that it's a desperate case. So, after a short confab with Mrs. Flynn and the kids, they're turned over to me.

"I ain't sure, ma'am," says I, "that young Mr. Ellins can spare the time. He's pretty busy just now. But maybe I can break in long enough to ask him, and if he's heard anything—well, you can be handy. Suppose you wait here at the garden gate. No, leave it open, that way."

I had 'em grouped conspicuous and dramatic; and, with Mrs. Flynn's straw lid tilted on one side, and the youngster whimperin' to be let loose among the flowers, and the baby sound asleep with its mouth open, the picture was more or less pathetic.

At the far end of the garden path was a different sort of scene. Ella May was making Mr. Robert hold one end of a daisy chain she was weavin', and she's prattlin' away kittenish when I edges up, scufflin' my feet warnin' on the gravel. She greets me with a pout. Mr. Robert hangs his head sort of sheepish, but asks hopeful:

"Well, Torchy?"

"She—she's here again, sir," says I.

"Eh?" says he, starin' puzzled. "Who is here?"

"S-s-s-sh!" says I, shakin' my head mysterious.

All of which don't escape Miss Buell. Her ears are up and her eyes wide open. "What is it?" she asks.

"If I could have a few words in private with you, Mr. Robert," says I, "maybe it would be——"

"Nonsense!" says he. "Out with it."

"Just as you like," says I. "Only, she's brought the kids with her this time. She says how she wants her Robert back."

"Wha-a-at!" he gasps.

"Couldn't keep her out," says I. "You know how she is. There they are, at the gate."

I don't know which was quicker to turn and look, him or Ella May. And just then Mrs. Flynn happens to be gazin' our way, pleadin' and expectant.

"Oh!" says Mr. Robert, laughin' careless. "Katie, eh?"

Miss Buell has jumped and is starin' at the group. Then, at that laugh of Mr. Robert's, she whirls on him.

"Brute!" says she. "I'm glad she's found you."

With which she dashes towards the house and disappears, leavin' Mr. Robert gawpin' after her.

"Why," says he, "you—you don't suppose she could have imagined that—that——"

"Maybe she did," says I. "My fault, I expect. I could find her, though, and explain how it was. I'll bet that inside of five minutes she'd be back here finishin' the floral wreath. Shall I?"

"Back here?" he echoes, kind of vague. Then he comes to.

"No, no!" says he. "I—I'd rather not. I want first to—— Where is Miss Hampton, Torchy?"

Well, I gives him full directions for findin' her, slips Mrs. Ryan the twenty he sends her instead of news from hubby, and then goes in, to find that Ella May is demandin' to be taken to the next train. We saw that she caught it, too, before she changed her mind.

"By George!" Mr. Robert whispers confidential to me, as the limousine rolls off with her in it, "if I could insure against such risks as that, I would take out a policy."

"You can," says I. "Any justice of the peace or minister will fix you up for life."

Does that sink in? I wouldn't wonder. Anyway, from the hasty glimpse I caught of him and Miss Hampton strollin' out in the moonlight that night, it looked that way.

So I did have a bulletin for Old Hickory Monday mornin'.

"It's all over but the shoutin'," says I.