long as it was a case of
Miss Pulsifer's young man. I pumps the whole tale out of Ferdie,--how
this Mr. Bert Gilkey--cute name too--had been writin' her letters all
the time from out West, how he'd been seized with a sudden fit, wired on
that he must see her once more, and had rushed East. Then how Pa
Pulsifer had caught 'em lalligaggin' out by the hedge, had talked real
rough to Gilkey, and ordered him never to muddy his front doormat again.

"And now," goes on Ferdie, "he sends word to Edna that he means to try
it once more, no matter what happens, and everyone is all stirred up."

"So that accounts for the nervous motions, eh?" says I. "What does Pa
Pulsifer have to say to this defi?"

"Goodness!" says Ferdie, shudderin'. "He doesn't know. No one dares tell
him a word. If he found out--well, it would be awful!"

"Huh!" says I. "One of these fam'ly ringmasters, is he?"

That was it, and from Ferdie's description I gathered that old Adam K.
was a reg'lar domestic tornado, once he got started. Maybe you know the
brand? And it seems Pa Pulsifer was the limit. So long as things went
his way he was a prince,--right there with the jolly haw-haw, fond of
callin' wifey pet names before strangers, and posin' as an easy
mark,--but let anybody try to pull off any programme that didn't jibe
with his, and black clouds rolled up sudden in the West.

"I do hope," goes on Ferdie, "that nothing of that sort occurs while we
are here."

So did I, for more reasons than one. What I wanted was peace, and plenty
of it, with Vee more or less disengaged.

Nothin' could have been more promisin' either than the openin' of that
first dinner party. Pa Pulsifer had showed up about six o'clock from the
Country Club, with his rugged, hand-hewed face tinted up cheery. Some of
it was sunburn, and some of it was rye, I expect, but he was glad to see
all of us. He patted Marjorie on the cheek, pinched Vee by the ear, and
slapped Ferdie on the back so hearty he near knocked the breath out of
him. So far as our genial host could make it, it was a gay and festive
scene. Best of all too, I'd been put next to Vee, and I was just workin'
up to exchangin' a hand squeeze under the tablecloth when, right in the
middle of one of Pa Pulsifer's best stories, there floats in through the
open windows a crash that makes everybody sit up. It sounds like
breakin' glass.

"Hah!" snorts Pulsifer, scowlin' out into the dark. "Now what in blazes
was that?"

"I-