I opened the message and read: 

  New York.

  John Henry,
    Jiggersville, N. Y.

The two queens will be out this afternoon.  They are good girls so treat them white.

  Bunch.

The unspeakable idiot, to send me a wire worded like that!  No wonder Clara J. was sitting on the ice cream freezer!  Of course it only meant that Bunch’s sister and her daughter were coming out to look at their property, but—­suffering mackerel! what an eye Clara J. was giving me!

“And who are the two queens?” she queried, bitterly.

My face grew redder and redder.  Every minute I expected to turn into a complete boiled lobster.  I could see somebody reaching for the mayonaise to sprinkle me.

“Well,” she continued, “is there no answer?  Of course, they are good girls, and you’ll treat them white, but—­” Then the heavens opened and the floods descended.

“Oh, John!” she sobbed; “how could you be so unkind, so cruel!  Think of it, a scandal on the very first day in my new home, and I was so happy!”

I would confess everything.  There was no other way out of it.  I was on my knees by her side just about to blurt forth the awful truth when my courage failed and suddenly I switched my bet and gave the cards another cut.

“It’s all a mistake,” I whispered; “it’s only Bunch Jefferson doing a comedy scene.  Don’t you understand, dear; when Bunch tries to get funny all the undertakers have a busy season.  I simply don’t know who he means by the two queens, and as for scandal, well, you know me, Pete!”

I threw out my chest and gave an imitation of St. Anthony.

“You must know who he means,” she insisted, brightening a bit, however.

“Ah, I have it!” I cried, brave-hearted liar that I was; “he means my Aunt Eliza and her daughter, Julia!  You remember Aunt Eliza, and Julia?”

“I never heard you speak of them before,” she said, still unconvinced.

Good reason, too, for up to this awful moment I never had an Aunt Eliza or a cousin Julia, but relatives must be found to fit the emergency.

“Oh, you’ve forgotten, my dear,” I said, soothingly.  “Aunt Eliza and Julia are two of the best Aunts I ever had—­er, I mean Aunt Eliza is the best cousin—­well, let it go at that!  Bunch may have met them on the street, you see, and they inquired for my address.  Yes, that’s it.  Dear, old Aunt Eliza!”

“Is she very old?” Clara J. asked, willing to be convinced if I could deliver the goods.

“Old,” I echoed, then suddenly remembering Bunch’s description; “oh, no; she’s a young widow, about 28 or 41, somewhere along in there.  You’ll like her immensely, but I hope she doesn’t come out until we get settled in a year or two.”

Clara J. dried her eyes, but I could see that she hadn’t restored me to her confidence as a member in good standing.

She pleaded a headache and went away to her room, while I sat down with Bunch’s telegram in my hands and tried to find even a cowpath through the woods.