likely to be fairly
good. Besides, I am feeling somewhat indebted to you."

"It's a go," says I, "if I can have a chance to wash up first."

"Of course," says she. Then she gives me a key and directions how to
find a certain door on the third floor. "My son's quarters," she goes
on, "that I have kept just as he left them twenty years ago. I shall
expect you to make yourself quite at home there."

Do I? Why, say, it's a back joint such as you might dream about: two
rooms and bath across the front of the house, guns and swords and such
knickknacks on the walls, a desk, a lot of books, and even a bathrobe
and slippers laid out. Say, while I was scrubbin' off some of the
inkstains and smoothin' down my hair with the silver-backed brushes I
felt like a young blood gettin' ready for a party.

Then after awhile I strolls down to the lib'ry and makes myself to home
some more. It's a comf'table place, with lots of big easy-chairs, nice
pictures on the wall, and no end of bookshelves. The old ladies has
cleared out, not even lockin' up any of the curios or sendin' a maid to
watch me.

And when it comes to the feed--why, say, it's a reg'lar course dinner,
such as you'd put up a dollar for at any of these high-class table dotty
ranches. Funny old china they had too, and a big silver coffeepot right
on the table. The only bad break I makes is just at the start, when I
dives into the soup without noticin' that Aunt Martha has her head down
and is mumblin' something about bein' thankful.

"Never mind," says Mrs. Preble. "We aren't included in this, anyway."

That begins the talk. I ain't put through the wringer, you understand,
but just follows Zenobia while she goes from one thing to another,
givin' her opinions of 'em and now and then callin' for mine. We got
real chatty too, and once in awhile she stops to laugh real hearty,
though I couldn't see where I'd got off any crack at all.

Near as I can make out, Zenobia is a lively old girl for her age. She's
seen all the best Broadway shows, knows what's goin' on in town, and
reads the papers reg'lar. Also it comes out that she don't follow the
kind of programme you generally look for antiques to stick to. She ain't
got any use for churches, charity institutions, society, or the
suffragettes. All of which seems to shock Sister Martha, who don't say
much, but only shudders now and then.

"You see, Torchy," says Zenobia, droppin' two lumps into her demitasse,
"I am an unbelieve