I had hardly noticed him among so many.  At least, I am sure I never gave him an excuse for thinking that he could—­ Oh, it was outrageous.  I had been trying to dance with him and had given it up.  We were in the little conservatory, watching the others, when—­well, I found myself in his arms, crushed there.  He—­he was kissing me violently.  I suppose I must have screamed before I fainted.  Anyway, there was a scene.  He was given his hat and coat, shown the door.  Father was in a rage.  Of course, after that he was ostracized.  I never saw him again, never forgave him.  And now—­ Do you think this can be the same Mr. Ellins?  He sent you to me, did he not?  Did he mention anything about—­”

“Not a word except business,” says I.  “And I must say that performance don’t sound much like the boss.”

“Ah!” says the old girl, sighin’ relieved.  “I am glad to hear you say so.  I should not care to have any dealings with him.”

She was back in the ‘70’s again, tryin’ to look haughty and indignant.  Next minute she was protestin’ about her income and announcin’ that she must keep up her Wednesdays.

“Yes’m,” says I, backin’ out; “I’ll tell him.”

“Well?” says Tessie, as we gets back to the parlor, “Ain’t that some bug-house proposition?  Got an ear-full, didn’t you?  And to-morrow we’ll—­ There’s that fool bell again.  Oh, it’s the doctor.  I’ll have to take him up.  So long.”

She let the young doctor in as she let me out.  I was half way down the block, too, when I turns and walks back.  I waits in the tin runabout until the pill distributer comes out.

“What about the old lady in there?” says I.  “Kind of wabbly, ain’t she?”

“Oh, she may last a month more,” says he.  “Wonderful vitality.  And then again—­oh, any time; like that!” and he snaps his fingers.

Maybe I didn’t have some details to give Old Hickory.

“It’s a case of better days,” says I.  “Must have been some society queen and she’s never got over the habit.  Still playin’ the game.”

Then I describes the guestless teas she has.  But never a smile out of Old Hickory.  He listens grim without interruptin’.

“But what about her first name?” he asks at last.

“Oh, sure,” says I.  “Didn’t I mention that?  Natalie.  And I expect she was some stunner.  She’s near the finish now, though.  Shouldn’t wonder but to-morrow might be her last third Wednesday.”

“Who says so?” demands Mr. Ellins savage.

“Her doctor,” says I.

With that, Old Hickory bangs his fist on the desk.

“Then, by the Lord Harry,” says he, “I’d like to make it a good one.”

“Eh?” says I, gawpin’.

“Young man,” says he, “I don’t know whether you have had fool luck or have been particularly clever, but thus far you have handled this affair for me like a diplomat.  Now I’m going to ask you to do something more.  I don’t care to hear another word about Mrs. Bagstock, not a whisper, but—­er—­here’s a check for two hundred dollars.  No, I’ll make it five.  Just take that and see that her silly tea to-morrow is a bang-up affair, with plenty of real guests.”