grins and grabs my hat.

"That bein' the case, Mr. Robert," says I, "we'll finance this Djickyns
party if we have to bull the sculpture market till it hits the rafters."

With that I takes the address of the scene of trouble and breezes uptown
to a third-rate studio buildin'; where I finds Aunty and Vee and Sister
Marjorie all grouped around a stepladder on top of which is balanced a
pallid youth with long black hair and a fair white brow projectin' out
like a double dormer on a cement bungalow. He seems to be tryin' to
drape a fish net across the top of an alcove accordin' to three
diff'rent sets of directions; but leaves off abrupt when I blows in.

You'd hardly guess I'd been sent for, either. "Humph!" remarks Aunty,
after I've announced how sorry Mr. Robert was he couldn't come himself
and that he's detailed me instead. "How perfectly absurd!"

"But, Aunty," protests Vee, "you know Torchy is a private secretary now
and understands all about such things. Besides, he knows such heaps of
important business men who----"

"If he can bring them here Wednesday afternoon, very well," says Aunty;
"but I have my doubts that he can."

"What's the game?" says I.

"It is not a game at all, young man," says Aunty. "Our project, if that
is what you mean, is to have a studio tea for Mr. Djickyns and to secure
the attendance of as many purchasers for his works as possible. Have you
any suggestions?"

"Why," says I, "not right off the bat. Maybe if I could chew over the
proposition awhile, I might----"

"Oh, I say," breaks in the noble young gent on the stepladder, "I--I'm
getting dizzy up here, you know. I--I'm feeling rather----"

"Mercy!" squeals Marjorie. "He's fainting!"

[Illustration: "I gathers him in on the fly."]

"Steady there!" I sings out to Djickyns, makin' a jump. "Don't wabble
until I get you. Easy!"

I ain't a second too soon, either; for as I reaches up he topples toward
me, as limp as a sack of flour. I was fieldin' my position well for an
amateur; for I gathers him in on the fly, slides him down head first
with only a bump or two, and stretches him out on the rug. It's only a
near-faint, though, and after a drink of water and a sniff at Aunty's
smellin' salts he's able to be helped onto a couch and propped up with
cushions.

"Awfully sorry," says he, smilin' mushy, "but I fear I can't go on with
the decorating to-day."

"Never mind," says Aunty, comfortin'. "This young man will help us."

"Plea