olite conversation to fire off
whenever I gets a show, and everything's as gay around the shop as
though the directors had voted an extra dividend--when I'm stacked up
against Aunt Laura and it begins to cloud in the west.

Aunt Laura is all Benny can show up for a fam'ly, and after you got to
know her you couldn't blame him for wantin' to start in on a new deal.
She's one of them narrow-eyed old girls that can look through a keyhole
without turnin' her head, and can dig up more suspicions in a minute
than most folks would in a month. I'll bet if the angel Gabriel should
show up and send in his card she'd make him prove who he was by playin'
the horn.

It was a cinch she didn't mistake me for no angel, when Mr. Robert sends
me up there to do an errand for Benny. I wa'n't callin' for no aunts,
anyway, but just leavin' a note for Wilson--that's Benny's man--when
this sharp-nosed old party comes rubberin' into the front hall.

"Marie," says she to the girl, "what boy is this? Where did he come
from? Who does he want to see? Don't you dare leave him alone for a
minute!"

That last touch gets me in the short ribs. "Ah, say," says I, "do I look
like a hallrack artist?"

"That'll do, young man!" says she. "You may not be as bad as you look;
but I have my doubts."

"Same to you, ma'am, and many of 'em," says I.

"Mercy!" says she. "What impertinence!"

"Please, ma'am," says the girl, "Mr. Ellins sent him up, and I----"

"Oh!" says the old one. Then she gives me another look. "Boy," says she,
"what's your name!"

"Torehy," says I. "Ain't it a snug fit?"

"Oh!" says she again, and with the soft pedal on. "You're Torchy, are
you?"

"There ain't any gettin' away from a name like that," says I.

"Why," says she, doin' her best to call up a smile, "what a bright young
man you are!"

"Specially on top," says I, throwin' a wink at Marie.

"Ye-es," says Aunt Laura, "I always did think that copper-red shade of
hair was real pretty. Come right in, Torchy, while Marie gets you some
cake and a cup of tea."

"I ain't turnin' the shoulder to any cake," says I; "but you can cut out
the tea."

Well, say, inside of three minutes from the start I'm planted comf'table
in one of the libr'y chairs, eatin' frosted cake with both hands, while
Marie's off hustlin' up lemonade and fancy crackers.

Course, it was somethin' of a shock, such a quick shift as that. I ain't
got a glimmer as to what Aunt Laura's end of the game was;