For all her width, she was
built on good lines, and if she'd been divided up right there'd been
enough for a pair of as good lookers as you'd want to see.

"O-o-o-o!" says she as she comes in. "See who's here!"

I never says a word, but just twists my toes around the chair legs and
looks into my hat. Not that I'm any afraid of girls; but I wa'n't
feelin' so much to home there as I do in some places, and I didn't want
to make any break. But she wouldn't let it go at that.

"O-o-o-o!" says she again, and as I squints up at her I sees the reg-lar
cut-up looks just bubblin' out.

"G'wan!" says I. "I ain't no curiosity."

"Oh, it is Torchy then, isn't it?" says she.

"You don't think this is a wig I'm wearin', do you?" says I. That's what
I got to expect with hair like mine. The minute my description's given
out everybody's on.

She giggles and says that Brother Robert's been telling her about me.
"I'm Marjorie, you know," says she.

"Well," says I, lookin' her over careful, "you'll do."

I meant it. Mr. Robert's only fair sized; but old man Ellins is a whale,
and I was thinkin' of him when I said that Marjorie was up to
specifications. She seems to think I've handed out a lump of
butterscotch, though, and we gets real chatty.

I don't know what kind of fairy yarns Mr. Robert's been tearin' off at
home about me; but from the start she treats me like I was one of the
fam'ly. And Marjorie was just as nice as she was heavy. She didn't try
to carry any dog; but just blazes ahead and spiels out the talk. I get
next to the fact that she's just home from one of them swell boardin'
schools, where they pump French and music into young lady plutesses at a
dollar a minute, and throw in lessons on how to say "Home, Francois!" to
the chaffeur. This was some kind of a vacation Marjorie was havin', and
she was doin' her best to make every hour count.

Knowin' all that helped me to keep from bein' so much jarred by her next
move. It was a couple of days after, on a Wednesday, and we'd got real
well acquainted, when Marjorie spots me as I was headin' back for the
office after leavin' some things for the boss.

"Torchy," says she, "where's Robert? What was he doing when you left?"

"Give it up," says I. "And, anyway, I ain't supposed to know."

"I'll bet you do, though," says she. "Couldn't you guess?"

"If I did," says I, "I'd guess that he'd just made a run of ten or
twelve and was pushin' up the buttons on the string."