you would not mention----"

"I might forget to," I breaks in, "if you'll tell me where I can find
'em quickest."

And Celeste gets the information out rapid. They're house-partyin' at
the Morley Beckhams, over at Quehassett, Long Island. "Rosemere" is the
name of the joint.

"Me for Quehassett!" says I, dashin' for the elevator.

But, say, I needn't have lost my breath. Parts of Long Island you can
get to every half-hour or so; but Quehassett ain't one of 'em. Huntin'
it up on the railroad map, I discovers that it's 'way out to the deuce
and gone on the north shore, and the earliest start I can get is the
four o'clock local.

Ever cruise around much on them Long Island branch lines? Say, it must
be int'restin' sport, providin' you don't care whether you get there
this week or next. I missed one connection by waitin' for the brakeman
to call out the change. And when I'd caught another train back to the
right junction I got the pleasin' bulletin that the next for Quehassett
is the theater train, that comes along somewhere about midnight.

So there I was hung up in a rummy little commuter town where the chief
industry is sellin' bungalow sites on the salt marsh. Then I tackles the
'phone, which results in three snappy conversations with a grouchy
butler at sixty cents a throw, but no real dope on the Beckhams or
their guests.

Well, it's near two A.M. when I fin'lly lands in Quehassett, which is no
proper time to call on anybody's aunt. Everything is shut tight too; so
I spreads out an evenin' edition on a baggage truck and turns in weary.
I'd overlooked pullin' down the front shades to the station, though, and
the next thing I knew the sun was hittin' me square in the face.

I wanders around Quehassett until a Dago opens up a little fruitstand.
He sold me some bananas and a couple of muskmelons for breakfast, and
points out which road leads to Rosemere. It's down on the shore about a
mile and a half, and I strolls along, eatin' fruit and enjoyin' the
early mornin' air.

Some joint Rosemere turns out to be,--acres of lawn, and rows of striped
awnin's at the windows. The big iron gates was locked, with nobody in
sight; so I has plenty of time to write a note to Vee, beggin' her for
the love of soup, if Aunty hasn't signed the transfer papers, not to let
her do it until she hears from me. My scheme was to get one of the help
to take the message to Vee before she got up.

Must have been near seven o'clock when I