[11]“Mrs. Reemy, permit me,” he said. “My friend, Andrew Jerome.” [11] “Mr. Jerome,” laughed the girl, extending her hand, “I am happy to welcome you to my birthday party.” Then, with one of her amazingly swift movements, she swung about to the physician. “And you, Dr. Shonto, are to be the guest of honour—and you are going to tell us all about glands and things like that.” “It is absolutely impossible,” Dr. Shonto returned gallantly, “that I could have met you and forgotten you, Mrs. Reemy.” “Very well spoken, Doctor,” she retorted, with a smile that twisted up a trifle at one corner of her mouth. “But I have heard that before. One would expect Dr. Inman Shonto, renowned gland specialist, to say something more original. There—I’m being impolite again! (Beat you to it that time, didn’t I, Mary Temple!) But you are pardoned for a commonplace speech, Doctor. It must have stunned you not a little to come upon a dolled-up flapper out here in the forest. I’ll relieve your mind instantly. We have never met before. But I have read about you for years. And this morning, when I was down at Lovejoy’s for my mail—and incidentally a big piece of venison which I hadn’t expected to be given me—I saw you and Mr. Jerome walking up the road with your guns. I inquired about you, and was told that the eminent Dr. Shonto and his friend Mr. Jerome, of Los Angeles, were in our midst. And, though I saw only your backs this morning, those shoulders of yours, Doctor, are as wide when seen from the front as from[12] the rear. And when I saw them threatening to push to right and left the uprights of my door frame, I thought Samson was about to bring the house down on us two Philistines. For that’s what we are, gentlemen—outlawed Philistines. And this is the house called El Trono de Tolerancia—which in Spanish is equivalent to The Throne of Tolerance. All right, Mary Temple—I see your shoulders quivering! I’ll stop right now and let somebody else get in a word. But since I already know the doctor and his friend—and a great deal about the doctor that he doesn’t suspect—doesn’t it stand to reason that they ought to hear about us before sitting down to my birthday dinner?” [12] “You oughtn’t to’ve called yourself a flapper,” said the kneeling Mary Temple, showing one fire-crimsoned cheek. With her ready laughter, which was hearty and whole-souled without a suggestion of boisterousness, Mrs. Charmian Reemy seated herself. Then Andy and
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