the
humor of some delightful secret. Looking carefully around him and seeing
every one absorbed in other things he leaned closer to his wife.

"She's liable to lose that bird," he whispered. "Them young fellers with
the canes--they're full of their devilment--well, they wanted I
shouldn't say nothing and I ain't sayin' nothing--only--"

Fat Mr. Tinneray, pale eyes rolling in merriment, pointed to the
camp-stool where once the parrot's cage had rested and where now no
parrot-cage was to be seen.

"As fur as I can see," he nudged his wife again, "that bird's liable to
get left ashore."

For a moment Mrs. Tinneray received this news stolidly, then a look of
comprehension flashed over her face. "What you talkin' about, Henry?"
she demanded. "Say, ain't you never got grown up? Where's Manda Bean?"

Having located Mrs. Bean, the two ladies indulged in a rapid whispered
conversation. Upon certain revelations made by Mrs. Bean, Mrs. Tinneray
turned and laid commands upon her husband.

"Look here," she said, "that what you told me is true--them young
fellers--" she fixed Mr. Tinneray with blue-glassed significant eyes,
adding _sotto voce_, "_You keep Mabel Tuttle busy_."

Fat Mr. Tinneray, chuckling anew, withdrew to the after-rail where the
azure lady still stood, chained as it were in a sort of stupor induced
by the incisive thrusts of the forlorn little woman on the wharf. He
joined in the conversation.

"So yer got a gramophone, hey," he called down kindly--"Say, that's
nice, ain't it?--that's company fer you and Cronney." He appealed to
Mrs. Tuttle in her supposed part of interested relative. "Keeps 'em from
gettin' lonesome and all," he explained.

That lady looking a pointed unbelief, could not, with the other
excursionists watching, but follow his lead.

"Why--er--ye-ess, that's rill nice," she agreed, with all the patronage
of the wealthy relative.

Little Mrs. Cronney's eyes glittered. The steamboat hands had begun
lifting the hawsers from the wharf piles and her time was short. She was
not going to be pitied by the opulent persons on the excursion. Getting
as it were into her stride, she took a bolder line of imagery.

"And the telephone," looking up at Mr. Tinneray. "I got friends in
Quahawg Junction and Russell Center--we're talkin' sometimes till nine
o'clock at night. I can pick up jelly receipts and dress-patterns just
so easy."

But Mrs. Tuttle now looked open incredulity. She turned to such
ex