life he is my secretary; and as it happens that just
now he is on special detail, his services are entirely at your
disposal."

She looks a little doubtful about bein' shunted like that, but she
follows me into the next room, where I produces a pencil and pad and
calls for details businesslike.

"Let's see," says I. "What's the full description? Age?"

"Why," says she, hesitatin', "Claire is about twenty-two."

"Oh!" says I. "Got beyond the flapper stage, then. Height--tall or
short?"

Mrs. Parker Smith shakes her head.

"I'm sure I don't know," says she. "You see, Claire is not an own niece.
She--well, she is a daughter of my first husband's second wife's
step-sister."

"Wha-a-at?" says I, gawpin' at her. "Daughter of your---- Oh, say, let's
not go into it as deep as that. I'm dizzy already. Suppose we call her
an in-law once removed and let it go at that?"

"Thank you," says Mrs. Parker Smith, givin' me a quizzin' smile.
"Perhaps it is enough to say that I have never seen her."

She does go on to explain, though, that when Claire's step-uncle, or
whatever he was, found his heart trouble gettin' worse, he wrote to Mrs.
Parker Smith, askin' her to forget the past and look after the orphan
girl that he's been tryin' to bring up. It's just as clear to me as the
average movie plot, but I nods my head.

"So for three years," says she, "while Claire was in boarding-school, I
acted as her guardian; but since she has come of age I have been merely
the executor of her small estate."

"Oh, yes!" says I. "And now she's come to New York, and forgot to send
you her address?"

It was something like that. Claire had gone in for art. Looked like
she'd splurged heavy on it, too; for the drain on her income had been
something fierce. Meanwhile, Mrs. Parker Smith had doped out an entirely
different future for Claire. The funds that had been tied up in a
Vermont barrel-stave fact'ry, that was makin' less and less barrel
staves every year, Auntie had pulled out and invested in a model dairy
farm out near Rockford, Illinois. She'd made the capital turn over from
fifteen to twenty per cent., too, by livin' right on the job and cashin'
in the cream tickets herself.

"You have!" says I. "Not a reg'lar cow farm?"

She nods.

"It did seem rather odd, at first," says she. "But I wanted to get away
from--from everything. But now---- Well, I want Claire. I suppose I am a
little lonesome. Besides, I want her to try taking charge.