-I think it must have been something in the kitchen, Dear," says Mrs.
Pulsifer. "Don't mind."

"But I do mind," says he. "In the first place, it wasn't in the kitchen
at all, and if you'll all excuse me, I'll just see for myself."

Meanwhile Edna has turned pale, Marjorie has almost choked herself with
a bread stick, and Ferdie has let his fork clatter to the floor. Ma
Pulsifer is bitin' her lip; but she's right there with the soothin'
words.

"Please, Dear," says she, "let me go. They want you to finish your
story."

It was a happy touch, that last. Pa Pulsifer recovers his napkin,
settles back in his chair, and goes on with the tale, while Mother slips
out quiet. She comes back after a while, springs a nervous little
laugh, and announces that it was only the glass in one of the hotbed
frames.

"Some stupid person taking a short cut across the grounds, I suppose,"
says she.

Didn't sound very convincin' to me; but Pulsifer had got started on
another boyhood anecdote, and he let it pass. I had a hunch, though,
that Mrs. Pulsifer hadn't told all. I caught a glance between her and
Edna, and some flashes between Edna and Vee, and I didn't need any sixth
sense to feel that something was in the air.

No move was made, though, until after coffee had been served in the
lib'ry and Pa Pulsifer was fittin' his fav'rite Harry Lauder record on
the music machine.

First Mrs. Pulsifer slips out easy. Next Edna follows her, and after
them Marjorie and Vee, havin' exchanged some whispered remarks,
disappears too. Maybe it was my play to stick it out with Ferdie and the
old boy, but I couldn't see any percentage in that, with Vee gone; so I
wanders casual into the hall, butts around through the music room,
follows a bright light at the rear, and am almost run down by Marjorie
hurrying the other way sleuthy.

"Oh!" she squeals. "It's you, is it, Torchy? S-s-s-sh!"

"What you shushin' about?" says I.

"Oh, it's dreadful!" puffs Marjorie. "He--he's come!"

"That Gilkey guy?" says I.

"Ye-e-es," says she. "But--but how did you know?"

"I'm a seventh son, born with a cowlick," says I. "Was it Gilkey made
his entrance through the cucumber frame?"

It was. Also he'd managed to cut himself in the ankles and right wrist.
They had him in the kitchen, patchin' him up now, and they was all
scared stiff for fear Pa Pulsifer would discover it before they could
send him away.

"He'll be a nut if he don't," says I, "with all you w