“And he wasn’t much good at that, if I do say it,” announces Tessie, snappin’ her black eyes.  “I don’t deny he had me buffaloed for a while there, throwin’ the bull about his rich aunt that was goin’ to leave him a fortune.  Huh!  This is the fortune—­this old furnished-room joint that’s mortgaged up to the eaves and ain’t had a roomer in three months.  Hot fortune, ain’t it?  And here I am stranded with a batty old dame, two blocks below Christopher.”

“Waitin’ to inherit?” I asks innocent.

“Why not?” says Tessie.  “I stood for Dick McCloud ’most three years.  That ought to call for some pension, hadn’t it?  I don’t mind sayin’, too, it ain’t one long May-day festival, this bein’ buried alive with Aunt Nutty.”

“Meanin’ Mrs. Bagstock?” says I.

She nods.  “One of Dick’s little cracks,” says she.  “Her real name is Natalie.”

I expect my ears did a reg’lar rabbit motion at that.  So this was the one?  Well, I’d got to have a look at her!

“Eh?” says I.  “Did you say Natalie?”

“Aunt Nutty’s a better fit, though,” says Tessie.

“Ah, come!” says I.  “She don’t write so batty.  And anybody who can notice the difference between fourteen per cent. dividends and three and a half ain’t so far gone.”

“Oh, you never could work off any wooden money on her,” admits Tessie.  “Her grip on a dollar is sump’n fierce; that is, until it comes to settin’ the stage for one of her third Wednesdays.”

“Her which?” says I.

“If it was anything I could cover up,” says Tessie, “you bet I’d deny it.  But anybody on the block could put you wise.  So, if you must know, every third Wednesday Aunt Nutty goes through the motions of pullin’ off a pink tea.  Uh-huh!  It’s all complete:  the big silver urn polished up and steaming sandwiches and cakes made, flowers about, us all dolled up—­and nobody to it!  Oh, it’s a scream!”

“But don’t anyone come?” says I.

“Hardly,” says Tessie, “unless you count Mrs. Fizzenmeyer, the delicatessen lady; or Madame Tebeau, the little hairdresser; or the Schmitt girls, from the corner bakery.  They pretend to take Auntie almost as serious as she takes herself.  Lately, though, even that bunch has stopped.  You can’t blame ’em.  It may be funny for once or twice.  After that—­well, it begins to get ghastly.  Specially with the old girl askin’ me continual to watch out the window and see if the Van Pyles haven’t driven up yet, or the Rollinses, or the Pitt-Smiths.  If that ain’t nutty, now what is?”

“The third Wednesday, eh?” says I.  “That’s to-morrow, ain’t it?”

“Sure,” says Tessie.  “Which is why you can’t see her to-day.  She’s in trainin’ for the big event—­y’understand?”

“But I’d like to set her mind easy on this stock proposition,” says I.

“Wish you could,” says Tessie.  “She’s been stewin’ a lot over something or other.  Must be that.  And I could take you up to her if you was on the list.”