e use?"

Not knowin' the answer to that I shifts the subject by tryin' to get a
line on the other comp'ny that's expected for dinner.

"They're our next-door neighbors," says he, "the Misses Hibbs."

"Queens?" says I.

He pinks up a little at that. "I presume you would call them old
maids," says he. "They are about my age, and--er--the truth is, they
are rather large. But really they're quite nice,--refined, cultured,
all that sort of thing."

"Specially which one?" says I, givin' him the wink.

"Now, now!" says he, shakin' his head. "You're as bad as Aunt Emma.
Besides, they're her guests. She asks them over quite often. You see,
they own almost as much property around here as she does, and--well,
common interests, you know."

"Sure that's all?" says I, noticin' Merry flushin' up more.

"Why, of course," says he. "That is--er--well, I suppose I may as well
admit that Aunt Emma thinks she is trying her hand at match-making.
Absurd, of course."

"Oh-ho!" says I. "Wants you to annex the adjoinin' real estate, does
she?"

"It--it isn't exactly that," says he. "I've no doubt she has decided
that either Pansy or Violet would make a good wife for me."

"Pansy and Violet!" says I. "Listens well."

"Perhaps their names are hardly appropriate; but they are nice,
sensible, rather attractive young women, both of them," insists Merry.

"Then why not?" says I. "What's the matter with the Hymen proposition?"

"Oh, it's out of the question," protests J. Meredith, blushin' deep.
"Really I--I've never thought of marrying anyone. Why, how could I?
And besides I shouldn't know how to go about it,--proposing, and all
that. Oh, I couldn't! You--you can't understand. I'm such a duffer
at most things."

There's no fake about him bein' modest. You could tell that by the way
he colored up, even talkin' to me. Odd sort of a gink he was, with a
lot of queer streaks in him that didn't show on the outside. It was
more or less entertainin', followin' up the plot of the piece; but all
of a sudden Merry gets over his confidential spasm and shuts up like a
clam.

"Almost time to dress for dinner," says he. "We'd best be going in."

And of course my appearin' in the banquet uniform don't give him any
serious jolt.

"Well, well, Torchy!" says he, as I strolls into the parlor about
six-thirty, tryin' to forget the points of my dress collar. "How
splendid you look!"

"I had some battle with the tie," says I. "A