et on to Mr. Ellins how
simple it was. And now, all you got to do is----"

"I know," she cuts in. "And I really ought not to trouble you another
moment. But, since Mr. Ellins has been so kind--well, I am going to ask
you to help me just a trifle more."

"Shoot," says I, unsuspicious.

It ain't much, she says. But she's afraid, if she trails Claire to her
rooms, the young lady might send down word she was out, or make a quick
exit.

"But if you would go," she suggests, "with a note from me asking her to
join us somewhere at dinner----"

I holds up both hands.

"Sorry," says I, "but I got to duck. That's taking too many chances."

Then I explains how, although I may look like a singleton, I'm really
the other half of a very interestin' domestic sketch, and that Vee's
expectin' me home to dinner.

"Why, all the better!" says Mrs. Parker Smith. "Have her come in and
join us. I'll tell you: we will have our little party down at the old
Napoleon, where they have such delicious French cooking. Now, please."

As I've hinted before, she is some persuader. I ain't mesmerized so
strong, though, but what I got sense enough to play it safe by callin'
up Vee first. I don't think she was strong for joinin' the reunion until
I points out that I might be some shy at wanderin' down into the
art-student colony and collectin' a strange young lady illustrator all
by myself.

"Course, I could do it alone if I had to," I throws in.

"H-m-m-m!" says Vee. "If that bashfulness of yours is likely to be as
bad as all that, perhaps I'd better come."

So by six o 'clock Vee and I are in the dinky reception-room of one of
them Belasco boardin'-houses, tryin' to convince a young female in a
paint-splashed smock and a floppy boudoir cap that we ain't tryin' to
kidnap or otherwise annoy her.

"What's the big idea?" says she. "I don't get you at all."

"Maybe if you'd read the note it would help," I suggests.

"Oh!" says she, and takes it over by the window.

She's a long-waisted, rangy young party, who walks with a Theda Bara
slouch and tries to talk out of one side of her mouth. "Hello!" she goes
on. "The Parker Smith person. That's enough. It's all off."

"Just as you say," says I. "But, if you ask me, I wouldn't pass up an
aunt like her without takin' a look."

"Aunt!" says Claire Lamar, _alias_ Hunt. "Listen: she's about as much an
aunt to me as I am to either of you. And I've never shed any tears over
the fact, either. The on