he same old program with
'em; listenin' to Pa Gummidge whine about how bad he felt, tryin' to
keep his job for him, plannin' out a career for Horatio, and watchin'
Rowena split out more shirtwaists.

Vee shows up prompt a little before closin' time. She's in a taxi and
has a big suit case and a basket full of contributions. "What puzzles
me," says she, "is how he could get back his old place so readily."

"Needn't worry you long," says I. "Let's go on up and have it over with
and then go somewhere for dinner."

So, of course, when we rolls up to the Patricia apartment we dives down
into janitor's quarters as usual. But we're halted by a putty-faced
Swede person in blue denims, who can converse and smoke a pipe at the
same time.

"Yah, I bane yanitor here long time," says he.

"Eh?" says I. "What about Gummidge then?"

"Oh, Meester Gummidge," says he. "He bane new tenant on second floor,
yes? Sublet, furnished, two days ago yet. Nice peoples."

Well, at that I stares at Vee and she stares back.

"Whaddye mean, nice?" I demands.

"Swell peoples," says the Swede, soundin' the "v" in swell. "Second
floor."

"There must be some mistake," says Vee, "but I suppose we might as well
go up and see."

So up we trails to the elevator, me with the suitcase in one hand and
the basket in the other, like a Santa Claus who has lost his way.

"Mr. Henry Grummidge?" says the neat elevator girl. "Yes'm. Second."

And in another minute Vee was being greeted in the dark hallway and
folded in impetuous by Ma Grummidge herself. But as we are towed into
the white and gold living room, where half a dozen pink-shaded electric
bulbs are blazin', we could see that it wasn't exactly the same Mrs.
Gummidge we'd known. She's about the same build, and she has the same
number of chins. Also there's the old familiar chuckly laugh. But that's
as far as it goes. This Mrs. Gummidge is attired--that's the proper
word, I expect--in a black satin' evenin' dress that fits her like she'd
been cast into it. Also her mop of brownish hair has been done up neat
and artistic, and with the turquoise necklace danglin' down to her
waist, and the marquise dinner ring flashin' on her right hand, she's
more or less impressive to behold.

"Why, Mrs. Gummidge!" gasps Vee.

"I just thought that's what you'd say," says she. "But wait 'till you've
seen Rowena. Come, dearie; here's comp'ny."

She was dead right. It was a case of waitin' to see Rowena, and we