“Amy abroad, is she?” breaks in Mr. Ellins.  “How does that happen?”

“The Adamses took her with them to Egypt,” says Dudley.  “They are old friends of ours.”

“Humph!” says Old Hickory.  “Your mother must be rather popular?”

“Oh, everyone likes Mama,” put in Marjorie.  “She’s asked around everywhere.”

“Yes, yes, I’ve no doubt,” says he.  “As I remember her, she was rather a—­but we won’t go into that.  Did you come to consult me about anything in particular?”

“No indeed,” says Marjorie.  “But you’ve been so good to bother about our affairs, and you’ve done such wonders with the little property poor Dad left, that we thought, as we were so near, we ought to——­”

“We wanted,” breaks in Dudley, “to call and thank you personally for your kindness.  You have been awfully kind, Sir.”

“Think so, do you?” says Mr. Ellins.  “Well, is that all?”

“Yes,” says Marjorie; “only—­only—­oh, Dud, I’m going to do it!” And with that she makes a rush, lets out a giggle or two, grabs Old Hickory in a perfectly good hug, and kisses him twice on his bald spot.

He don’t even have a chance to struggle, and before he can get out a word it’s all over and she has backed off, givin’ him the full benefit of one of them twisty smiles.  I was lookin’ for him to blow up for fair at that.  He don’t though.

“There, there!” says he.  “Not in the least necessary, you know.  But if it was something you had to get out of your system, all right.  So you’ve been visiting, eh?  Now, what?”

“Why, Marjorie’s going back to her school, Sir,” says Dudley, “and I to college.”

“Before the holidays are over?” says Mr. Ellins.

“Oh, we don’t mind,” says Marjorie.  “We don’t want to go home and open up the house; for we should miss Mother so much.”

“Suppose you finish out your vacation with us, then?” suggests Old Hickory.

“Oh, thank you, Sir,” says Dudley; “but we——­”

“Mother wrote us, you see,” breaks in Marjorie, “that we mustn’t think of bothering you another bit.”

“Who says you’re a bother?” he demands.  “At this time of year I like to have young folks around—­if they’re the right kind.”

“But I’m not sure we are the right kind,” says Marjorie.  “I—­I’m not very serious, you know; and Dud’s apt to be noisy.  He thinks he can sing.”

At which Dudley gets fussed and Old Hickory chuckles.

“I’ll take a chance,” says Mr. Ellins.  “If I’m to be your guardian, I ought to know you better.  So you two trot right up to the house and prepare to stay the week out.  Here, Torchy!  ’Phone for the limousine.  No, not a word, young woman!  I haven’t time to discuss it.  Clear out, both of you!  See you at dinner.”

“There!” says Marjorie as a partin’ shot.  “I just knew you were an old dear!”

“Stuff!” protests Mr. Ellins. “‘Old bear,’ is more like it.”