on't try to stretch here; wait until you get back to the
open fields for that. Yes, it's all over, and you're about to butt into
society; so for Heaven's sake come out of the trance!"

Not havin' a stretcher handy, we drags him out to the curb, and I blows
some more of my expense account against a taxi, which lands us safe and
sound at this Fifth-ave. number up in the 70's. "Guests of Miss Marjorie
Ellins," was to be the password, and the flunky in satin pants at the
door seems to have been well posted.

"Yes, sir; right this way, sir," says he, wavin' us down the hall and
shootin' us into a little conservatory nook. "The gentlemen from Maine
are to wait here, and you are to meet Miss Ellins at the foot of the
grand staircase. She will be down in a moment, sir."

"I get you," says I, and, after cautionin' Jake to keep on his feet
until I came back, I slips out and posts myself behind a potted palm
where I could watch the early arrivals comin' down from the cloakrooms.

It wa'n't a long wait; for pretty soon down floats Mildred and Marjorie,
all got up in flossy party dresses and fairly quiverin' with excitement.

"Oh, you dear boy!" gushes Millie. "And he is really here, is he? My
splendid Hermes! Tell me, what did he have to say about it all?"

"Who, Jake?" says I. "Mostly he was beefin' about the way his neck ached
from the collar."

"Isn't that just like a man!" says Marjorie.

"I don't care," says Mildred. "I am just crazy to see him once more. I
want to look into his eyes and----"

"Then step lively," says I, "before they get glued up for good. Down
this way. Here you are, in there among the palms! See, there's Uncle
Jerry rubberin' around!"

"Oh, yes!" squeals Millie, clappin' her hands. "Dear old Uncle Jerry!
But--but, Torchy, where is--er--his nephew?"

"Eh?" says I. "Why, there on the bench, doin' the yawn act!"

"Wha-a-a-at!" gasps Millie, steppin' in for a closer look.

"Straight goods," says I. "That's Hermes the lobster picker."

"That!" says Mildred, shrinkin' back. "Never!"

"Huh!" says I. "I told him you wouldn't know him if he didn't keep that
face cavity of his closed. He's been doin' that since eight o'clock. But
he's the real article, serial number guaranteed by Uncle Jerry."

"No, no!" squeals Mildred, covering her face with her hands and backin'
away. "There's been some dreadful mistake! That isn't my Hermes. He
wasn't at all like that, I tell you, not at all!"

Well, we was grou