"Well, not exactly," says he. "But I can't take wine. I hardly ever
do. It--it goes to my head always. And tonight--well, I couldn't
decline. You saw. Then afterward--oh, I felt so buoyant, so full of
life, that I couldn't go to sleep. I simply had to do something to let
off steam. I wanted to play the cornet. So I came out here, as far
away from anyone as I could get."

"Too thin, Merry," says I. "That might pass with me; but with
strangers you'd get the laugh."

"But it's true," he goes on. "And I didn't dream anyone could hear me
from here."

"Why, you boob," says I, "they could hear you a mile off!"

"Really?" says he. "But you don't suppose Vio--I mean, the Misses
Hibbs could hear, do you?"

"Unless it's their habit to putty up their ears at night," says I.

"But--but what will they think?" he gasps breathless.

"That they're bein' serenaded by some admirin' friend," says I.
"What's your guess?"

"Oh--oh!" says Merry, slumpin' down on a settee. "I--I had not thought
of that."

"Ah, buck up!" say I. "Maybe you can fake an alibi in the mornin'.
Anyway, you can't spend the night here. You got to report to Aunty."

He lets out another groan, and then gets on his feet. "There's a path
through the bushes along here somewhere," says he.

"No more cross country work in full dress clothes for me," says I.
"We'll sneak down the Hibbs's drive where the goin's easy."

We was doin' it real sleuthy too, keepin' on the lawn and dodgin' from
shadow to shadow, when just as we're passin' the house Merry has to
stub his toe and drop his blamed cornet with a bang.

Then out from a second story window floats a voice: "Who is that,
please?"

Merry nudges me in the ribs. "Tell them it's you," he whispers.

"Why, it's--it's me--Torchy," says I reluctant.

"Oh! Ah!" says a couple of voices in chorus. Then one of 'em goes on,
"The young man who is visiting dear Meredith?"

"Yep," says I. "Same one."

"But it wasn't you playing the cornet so beautifully, was it?" comes
coaxin' from the window.

"Tell them yes," whispers Merry, nudgin' violent.

"Gwan!" I whispers back. "I'm in bad enough as it is." With that I
speaks up before he can stop me, "Not much!" says I. "That was dear
Meredith himself."

"Oh-oh!" says the voices together. Then there's whisperin' between
'em. One seems urgin' the other on to something, and at last it comes
out. "Young man," says the voice, smooth and persuadin', "p