n her," admits Tessie.
"Her grip on a dollar is sump'n fierce; that is, until it comes to
settin' the stage for one of her third Wednesdays."

"Her which?" says I.

"If it was anything I could cover up," says Tessie, "you bet I'd deny
it. But anybody on the block could put you wise. So, if you must
know, every third Wednesday Aunt Nutty goes through the motions of
pullin' off a pink tea. Uh-huh! It's all complete: the big silver urn
polished up and steaming sandwiches and cakes made, flowers about, us
all dolled up--and nobody to it! Oh, it's a scream!"

"But don't anyone come?" says I.

"Hardly," says Tessie, "unless you count Mrs. Fizzenmeyer, the
delicatessen lady; or Madame Tebeau, the little hairdresser; or the
Schmitt girls, from the corner bakery. They pretend to take Auntie
almost as serious as she takes herself. Lately, though, even that
bunch has stopped. You can't blame 'em. It may be funny for once or
twice. After that--well, it begins to get ghastly. Specially with the
old girl askin' me continual to watch out the window and see if the Van
Pyles haven't driven up yet, or the Rollinses, or the Pitt-Smiths. If
that ain't nutty, now what is?"

"The third Wednesday, eh?" says I. "That's to-morrow, ain't it?"

"Sure," says Tessie. "Which is why you can't see her to-day. She's in
trainin' for the big event--y'understand?"

"But I'd like to set her mind easy on this stock proposition," says I.

"Wish you could," says Tessie. "She's been stewin' a lot over
something or other. Must be that. And I could take you up to her if
you was on the list."

"What list?" I asks.

"Her doctor, her solicitor, her banker," says Tessie, checkin' 'em off
on her fingers.

"Say," says I, "couldn't I ring in as one of her bankers? Then I could
get this off my chest and not have to come again."

"I'll put it up to her," says Tessie. "Got a business card on you?"

I had, an engraved one. Maybe that's what did the trick, for Tessie
comes back smilin'.

"But it'll take me half an hour or so to fix her up," says she. "She's
dreadful fussy about her looks."

"I got all day," says I.

But at that it seemed like I'd been shut up in that sobby parlor for a
month when Tessie finally gives me the word. "Come along," says she.
"And don't forget to make a noise like a banker."

Say, after I'd been led up to this faded old relic that's bolstered
with pillows in the armchair by the window, and listened to