blic to a quaint old freak like that. But Aunt
Elvira don't waste much time swappin' fam'ly greetin's.

"Where is Dyckman?" says she, settin' her chin for trouble. "Isn't he
here?"

"Oh, yes," says Mr. Mallory. "Right over there," and he points his cane
handle to where Dyke and me are grouped on the side lines.

"Here, hold Bismarck!" says Aunty, jammin' the brass cage into Mr.
Mallory's arm, and with that she pikes straight over to us. I never
mistrusted she'd be in any doubt as to which was which, until I sees her
look from one to the other, kind of waverin'. No wonder, though; for,
from the descriptions she'd had, neither of us came up to the divinity
student specifications. Yet it was something of a shock when she fixes
them sharp old lamps on me and says:

"Land to goodness! You?"

"Reverse!" says I. "Here's the guilty party," and I pushes Dyke to the
front.

She don't gasp, or go up in the air, or throw any kind of a fit, like I
expected. As she looks him over careful, from the sporty hat to the wide
soled shoes, I notices her eyes twinkle.

"Hum! I thought as much!" says she. "Craig always could lie easier than
he could tell the truth. Young man, you don't look to me like a person
called to hold orders."

"Glad of it, Aunty," says Dyke, with a grin. "I don't feel that way."

"And you don't look as if you had broken down your health studying for
the ministry, either!" she goes on.

"You don't mean to say they filled you up with that?" says Dyke.
"Hee-haw!"

"Huh!" says Aunty. "It's a joke, is it? At least you're not afraid to
tell the truth. I guess I want to have a little private talk with you.
Who's this other young man?"

"This is Professor McCabe," says Dyke. "He's a friend of mine."

"Let him come along, too," says Aunty. "Perhaps he can supply what you
leave out."

And, say, the old girl knew what she wanted and when she wanted it, all
right! There was no bunkoin' her out of it, either. Mr. Mallory leads her
out to his brougham and does his best to shoo her in with him and Mrs.
Mallory and away from Dyke; but it was no go.

"I will ride up with Dyckman and his friend," says she. "And I want to go
in one of those new automobile cabs I've heard so much about."

"Good! We'll get one, Aunty," says Dyke, and then he whispers in my ear,
"Slip around the corner and call for Jerry Powers. Number 439. He can
make a taxi take hurdles and water jumps."

I don't know whether it was luck or not, but