in't the bow lopsided?"

"A mere trifle," says he. "Allow me. There! Really, I'm quite proud
of you. Aunty'll be pleased too; for, while she dresses very plainly
herself, she likes this sort of thing. You'll see."

I didn't notice any wild enthusiasm on Aunty's part, though, when she
shows up. A lean, wiry old girl, Aunty is, with her white hair bobbed
up careless and a big shell comb stickin' up bristly, like a picket
fence, on top. There's nothin' soft about her chin, or the square-cut
mouth, and after she'd give me one glance out of them shrewd, squinty
eyes I felt like she'd taken my number,--pedigree, past performances,
and cost mark complete.

"Howdo, young man?" says she, and with out wastin' any more breath on
me she pikes out to the front door to scout down the drive for the
other guests.

They arrives on the tick of six-forty-five, and inside of three minutes
Aunty has shooed us into the dinin' room. And, say, the first good
look I had at Pansy and Violet I nearly passed away. "Rather large,"
Merry had described 'em. Yes, and then some! They wa'n't just
ordinary fat women; they was a pair of whales,--big all over, tall and
wide and hefty. They had their weight pretty well placed at that; not
lumpy or bulgy, you know, but with them expanses of shoulder, and their
big, heavy faces--well, the picture of slim, narrow-chested Merry
Stidler sittin' wedged in between the two, like the ham in a lunch
counter sandwich, was most too much for me. I swallows a drink of
water and chokes over it.

I expect Merry caught on too. I'd never seen him so fussed before.
He's makin' a brave stab at bein' chatty; but I can tell he's doin' it
all on his nerve. He glances first to the right, and then turns quick
to the left; but on both sides he's hemmed in by them two human
mountains.

They wa'n't such bad lookers, either. They has good complexions, kind
of pleasant eyes, and calm, comf'table ways. But there was so much of
'em! Honest, when they both leans toward him at once I held my breath,
expectin' to see him squeezed out like a piece of lead pipe run through
a rollin' machine.

Nothin' tragic like that happens, though. They don't even crowd him
into the soup. But it's an odd sort of a meal, with J. Meredith and
the Hibbs sisters doin' a draggy three-handed dialogue, while me and
Aunty holds down the side lines. And nothin' that's said or done gets
away from them narrow-set eyes, believe me!

Looke