e
crook class, nor I don't wear any Sunday-school medals, either."

"Who are you?" says she.

"Why, just Torchy," says I. "See--torch, Torchy," and I points to my
sunset coiffure.

"But who are your parents?" she goes on.

"Don't own any," says I. "I'm a double orphan and rustlin' for myself."

"Where do you live?" says she.

"Why," says I, "I don't live anywhere just now. I'm movin'; but I don't
know where to."

"I suppose that is either impudence or epigram," says she; "but never
mind. Perhaps you will tell me where you work?"

"I don't work at all," says I. "I'm head office boy for the Corrugated
Trust, and it's a cinch job."

"Indeed!" says she. "The Corrugated Trust? Let me see, who is at the
head of that concern?"

"Say," says I, "you don't mean you never heard of Old Hickory Ellins or
Mr. Robert, do you?"

She kind of smiles at that; but dodges makin' any answer.

"Well," says I, "do I get pinched, or just given the run? Either way,
I've got some baggage down by the area door that ought to be looked
after."

"Why, certainly, I will have it----" then she stops and looks me over
sort of shrewd. "Suppose," she starts in again, "you go and get it
yourself?"

"Sure!" says I, and it ain't until I'm outside that I sees this is just
her way of tryin' me out; for I has a fine chance to beat it. "Nix!"
thinks I. "I might as well see this thing through and get a decision."
So back I goes with the suitcase and laundry bag. She hadn't even
followed me to the door.

"Ah!" says she, lookin' up. "You weren't afraid to come back, then.
Why?"

"Oh, I guess it was because I banked on your givin' me a square deal,"
says I.

That gets a grin out of her. "Thank you very much for the compliment,"
says she. "I may say that the inquisition is over. However, I should
like to have you remain a little longer, if you care to. Won't you leave
your things in the hall there? Your hat and overcoat too."

"Zenobia," says Martha, wakin' up, "surely you are not going to----"

"Precisely," says Zenobia. "I am going to ask him to stay for dinner
with us. Will you?"

"Yep!" says I. "I never let any free eats get by me."

"But," gasps Martha, "you don't know who he is?"

"Neither does he know us," says Zenobia. "Torchy, I am Mrs. Zenobia
Preble. This is my sister, Miss Martha Hadley. She is very good, I am
very wicked, and we are both women of mature years. You will probably
find our society rather dull; but the dinner is