I concluded to help her some.

Skinski arose from the sofa and greeted us with his most elaborate bow.

Ma’moselle Dodo didn’t Society very much.

She sat in the middle of the room and sang soft lullabys to a hold-over.

“Mr. Jefferson, my nephew,” Skinski was saying, “insisted that we should hit the suburban trail and locate your shack.  Here’s a note from nephew Bunch for you.”

Skinski handed me the note with a face as solemn as a monkey-wrench, and I read it: 

  CITY, Sunday P.M.

DEAR JOHN—­I send herewith the two rosebuds.  As a favor to your old pal please treat my beloved relatives with every consideration and make a fuss over them.  You know you told them in the restaurant to come and see you.  They want to make good and will stay a week if you insist.

  With kindest regards,
    BUNCH.

P. S. Don’t drag Aunt Flora into any literary discussions—­she might hand you something.  Her favorite author is Pommery Sec., the chap who writes all those frothy books.

  B.

“I wish you could have seen our place in the day-time,” Peaches was saying to Skinski when I finished reading Bunch’s get-back.  “We think it’s delightful out here.  Did you, have much trouble in finding the place?”

“Nay, lady fair,” Skinski replied; “no trouble at all.  Nephew Bunch came as far as the front door with us.”

“What!” exclaimed the astonished Peaches.

“Yes,” Skinski concluded; “he even saved us the hardship of ringing the bell.  Oh! he’s a thoughtful relative, Bunch is.”

Clara J. looked at me, I looked at Skinski, he looked at Dodo, and she looked at the piano and said thoughtfully, “You betcher sweet!”

“The idea of Bunch coming to our front door and then rushing off again without seeing anybody,” gasped Peaches, “what does it mean?”

“Alice lives only half a mile away and possibly Bunch was running behind his schedule,” I suggested.

Just then Aunt Martha and Uncle Peter came in the parlor, and presently I grabbed a chance to say a few words to Skinski on the side: 

“If my family circle ever gets wise that you and the Queen of Laughter over there are excess baggage it’ll be to the cabbage patch for mine,” I whispered.

“I’m on,” Skinski whispered back.  “Never a break from yours mysteriously, believe me.  We wouldn’t have come out at all if your partner hadn’t insisted.  He was so hot to have us butt in here and hand your heart a flutter that I just couldn’t resist his pleading voice.  It’s a catchy jest, all right, and it’s making me laugh.  The way you two ducks josh each other is pitiful, but your secret is safe with me, Manager.  I won’t make no bad breaks, and Dodo won’t ever open her talk-trap.  She never talks off the stage.  On the stage, say! she has the most elegant line of language that ever left the pipes.  Leave it all to me, Manager, and I’ll see that the McGowan family makes an awful hit with your fireside companions.”