fairs, with one week on salary, and th' other without. I ain't
goin' t' take my vacation for a while--not till fall, p'raps, or maybe
winter. But w'en I do take it, sa-a-ay, girl, it's goin' t' be a real
one."

"But why wait so long?" I asked. "You need it now. Who ever heard of
putting off a vacation until winter!"

"Well, I dunno," mused Blackie. "I just made my arrangements for that
time, and I hate t' muss 'em up. You'll say, w'en the time comes, that
my plans are reasonable."

There was a sharp ring from the telephone at Blackie's elbow. He
answered it, then thrust the receiver into my hand. "For you," he said.

It was Von Gerhard's voice that came to me. "I have something to tell
you," he said. "Something most important. If I call for you at six we
can drive out to the bay for supper, yes? I must talk to you."

"You have saved my life," I called back. "It has been a beast of a day.
You may talk as much and as importantly as you like, so long as I am
kept cool."

"That was Von Gerhard," said I to Blackie, and tried not to look
uncomfortable.

"Mm," grunted Blackie, pulling at his pipe. "Thoughtful, ain't he?"

I turned at the door. "He--he's going away day after to-morrow,
Blackie," I explained, although no explanation had been asked for, "to
Vienna. He expects to stay a year--or two--or three--"

Blackie looked up quickly. "Goin' away, is he? Well, maybe it's best,
all around, girl. I see his name's been mentioned in all the medical
papers, and the big magazines, and all that, lately. Gettin' t' be a big
bug, Von Gerhard is. Sorry he's goin', though. I was plannin' t' consult
him just before I go on my--vacation. But some other guy'll do. He don't
approve of me, Von Gerhard don't."

For some reason which I could never explain I went back into the room
and held out both my hands to Blackie. His nervous brown fingers closed
over them. "That doesn't make one bit of difference to us, does it,
Blackie?" I said, gravely. "We're--we're not caring so long as we
approve of one another, are we?"

"Not a bit, girl," smiled Blackie, "not a bit."

When the green car stopped before the Old Folks' Home I was in seraphic
mood. I had bathed, donned clean linen and a Dutch-necked gown. The
result was most soul-satisfying. My spirits rose unaccountably. Even the
sight of Von Gerhard, looking troubled and distrait, did not quiet them.
We darted away, out along the lake front, past the toll gate, to the bay
road stretch