e he was in dead earnest. So the first
thing Mother and Father knew they were bein' interviewed. Robbie had
half said she might if there was no kick from her dear parents, and he
wanted to know how about it. Mr. Cheyne Ballard supplied the
information prompt. He called Nick an impudent young puppy, at which
Mother wept and took the young gent's part. Robbie blew in just then
and giggled through the rest of the act, until Father quit disgusted
and put it square up to her. Then she pouted and locked herself in her
room. That's when Mr. Robert was sent for; but she wouldn't give him
any decision, either.

So for a week there things was in a mess, with Robbie balkin', Mother
havin' a case of nerves, Father nursin' a grouch, and Nick Talbot
mopin' around doleful. Then some girl friend suggested to Robbie that
if she did take Nick they could have a moonlight lawn weddin', with the
flower gardens all lit up by electric bulbs, which would be too dear
for anything. Robbie perked up and asked for details. Inside of an
hour she was plannin' what she would wear. Late in the afternoon Nick
heard the glad news himself, through a third party.

First off the date was set for early next spring, when she'd be twenty.
That was Father's dope; although Mother was willin' it should be pulled
off around Christmas time. Nick, he stuck out for the first of
October; but Robbie says:

"Oh, pshaw! There won't be any flowers then, and we'll be back in
town. Why not week after next?"

So that's the compromise fin'lly agreed on. The moonlight stunt had to
be scratched; but the outdoor part was stuck to--and believe me it was
some classy hitchin' bee!

They'd been gone about two weeks, I guess, with everybody contented
except maybe the three losers, and all hands countin' the incident
closed; when one forenoon Mother shows up at the general offices, has a
long talk with Mr. Robert, and goes away moppin' her eyes. Then
there's a call for Mr. Cheyne Ballard's downtown number, and Mr. Robert
has a confab with him over the 'phone. Next comes three lively rings
for me on the buzzer, and I chases into the private office. Mr. Robert
is sittin' scowlin', makin' savage' jabs with a paper knife at the
blotter pad.

"Torchy," says he, "I find myself in a deucedly awkward fix."

"Another lobbyist been squealin'?" says I.

"No, no!" says he. "This is a personal affair, and--well, it's
embarrassing, to say the least."

"Another lobbyi