“Rot!” said Jack, “look here—­”

He was interrupted by the return of the embassy, Mitchell bearing the jews-harps.

“What’s the matter?” Burnett asked.

“Nothing,” said Clover; “we were so worried over you, that’s all.”  Burnett called for the bill and found that he had run out of cash; “Or maybe I’ve had my pocket picked,” he suggested.  “I’m beginning to be in just the mood in which I always get my pocket picked.”

Jack produced a roll of bills and settled for the refreshments.  Then they all started down stairs as Aunt Mary wouldn’t risk an elevator going down.

“It’s all right comin’ up,” she said, “but if it broke when you were going down where’d you be?”

“In the elevator,” said Clover.  “I’d never jump, I know that.”

“Oh, I’ve left my ear-trumpet,” said Aunt Mary.

“Let’s draw lots to see who goes back?” Burnett suggested.

They drew and the lot fell to Clover.

“I’m not going back,” he said coldly.  “I haven’t got the energy.  Let her apply the megaphone.”

Jack went back.

Then they all got into the street and into the cabs.  Aunt Mary and Jack went first, Mitchell and Burnett second, and Clover brought up the rear alone.

They set off and it must be admitted that the effect of the three cabs going single file one after another with their five occupants giving forth a most imperfect version of his or her favorite tune, was at once novel and awe-inspiring.  But like all sweet things upon this earth the concert was not of long endurance.  It was only a few minutes before the duos ceased utterly to duo and the soloist in the rear fell sound asleep.  For several blocks there was a mournful and tell-tale lack of harmony upon the air and then the three young men seemed to have exhausted their mouths and all lapsed into a more or less conscious state of quietude.

Only Aunt Mary was indefatigable.  Like Cleopatra, age seemed to have no power to stale her infinite variety, and leaning back in her own corner she continued to placidly and peacefully intone with disregard for time and tune which never ruffled a wrinkle.  She hadn’t played on a jews-harp in sixty years, and being deaf she was pleasantly astonished at how well she still did it.  Jack leaned in his corner with folded arms; he was deeply conscious of wishing that it was the next day—­any day—­any other day—­for the week had been a wearing one and he could not but be mortally glad that it was so nearly over.  The task of fitting the plan of Aunt Mary’s revelries to the measure of her personal capacity had been a very hard one and his soul panted for relief therefrom.  It is one thing to undertake a task and another thing to persevere to its successful completion.  Aunt Mary’s nephew was tired—­very tired.

A little later he felt a weight against him; he looked; it was Aunt Mary’s head,—­she was oblivious there on his bosom.