and Mr. Robert's mixed up in, which ain't come to a head yet.

Then--well, then, there's Vee. Go on--hand me the jolly! And if you
push me to it I'll admit I ain't any speedy performer at this "Oh,
you!" game. Mr. Robert he thinks it's comic, when he has the kiddin'
fit on, to remark chuckly, "Oh, I say, Torchy, have you seen Miss Vee
lately?"

There's others too, that seems to get a lot of satisfaction shootin'
the same thing at me, and they sort of snicker when I get pink in the
ears. But, say, there's a heap of difference between pickin' peaches
from an easy chair under the tree, and when you have to shin the garden
wall and reach through the barbed wire ornament on top.

Course, I ain't comparin' anything--but there's Aunty. Dear old girl!
Square as a brick, and about as yieldin'; good as gold too, but worth
more per ounce than any coined at the mint; and as foxy in the mind as
a corporation lawyer arguin' before the Rapid Transit Commission. Also
I'm as welcome to Aunty's eyesight as Eugene V. Debs would be at the
Union League Club--just about. That ain't any idle rumor, either, nor
something that was hinted to me casual. It's first-hand information,
hot off the bat.

"Boy," says she, glarin' at me through her gold lorgnette like I was
some kind of insect specimen, "do I understand that you come here to
see my niece?"

"Well," says I, "there's you and her--guess!"

"Humph!" she snorts indignant. "Then I wish you to know that your
visits are most unwelcome. Is that quite clear?"

"I get the outline," says I. "But, you see----"

"No qualifications, absolutely none!" says she. "Good afternoon, young
man. I shall not expect you to return."

"Oh, well, in that case," says I, sidlin' off, "why--I--I think I'll be
goin'."

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