“Why, ye-e-es,” says Tidman; “but what—­”

“You’re goin’ to reward her for sittin’ on Cousin Ralph so long,” says I.  “Give her one of the fives.  You can slip the other to him as we shoo him through the back door.  Now, let’s go relieve Mrs. Flynn.”

From the rough way we collared Ralph and led him off, she must have thought we was headin’ him straight for Sing Sing.  Anyway, that five-spot kept her mind busy.

Our remarks to Ralph were short but meaty.  “You see the bally muss you got me into, I hope,” says Tidman.

“And just remember,” I adds, “when the fit strikes you to call again, that Mrs. Flynn is always on hand.”

“She’s a female hyena, that woman,” says Cousin Ralph, rubbin’ his back between groans.  “I—­I wouldn’t get within a mile of her again for a fortune.”

Couldn’t have been more’n ten minutes before the three of us—­Waldo, Tidman, and me—­was all grouped in the lib’ry again, just as though nothing had happened.

“My hunch was right,” says I.  “He wasn’t a burglar.  Ask Tidman.”

Tidman backs me up hearty.

“Then who the deuce was he,” demands Waldo, “and what was he—­”

“Now, say!” says I.  “You’ve been let out, ain’t you?  He’s gone; no police, no court proceedin’s, no scandal in the servants’ quarters.  Ain’t that enough?”

“You’re quite right,” says Waldo.  “And we still have time for that chapter of—­”

“So you have,” says I; “only you got to ditch this Toothpicketus work until you sign an order to your lawyers about sellin’ that land.  Here, lemme draft it off for you.  Twelve words.  Likely they’ll want an O. K. on the ’phone, too; but you won’t mind that.  Now your signature.  Thanks.  And say, any time you and Tidman need a crude commercial mind to help you out, just send for me.”

Uh-huh!  By three o’clock next day we owned the whole of that Apache Creek tract and had the goods to shove at Ballinger.

Was it a smear?  It was—­a smear plus.  Tickled?  Why, Old Hickory came so near smilin’ I was afraid that armor-plate face of his was goin’ to crack.

But say, don’t tell the National Real Estaters’ League about that commission check he slipped me.  I might lose my amateur standin’.

CHAPTER VIII

BREAKING ODD WITH MYRA

Next time I’ll pay attention.  For Vee must have mentioned how this Cousin Myra of hers was comin’.  Yes, I remember now.  Said something about her being an old-maid niece of Auntie’s who was due to drift in from Bermuda or California or somewhere, and that she might stay over a few days.

But it was no solemn warning as it had a right to be.  So, by the time I gets this sudden hunch the other night about runnin’ up for a little unlisted chat with Vee, I must have forgotten.  Not one of my regular evenin’s, you understand, nor any special date:  I was just takin’ a chance.  And when the maid tells me Miss Vee and Auntie have gone out for an after-dinner stroll on the Drive, I chucks my new felt-rim straw on the hall table and remarks careless that, as Auntie ain’t likely to do any Marathon before bedtime, I guess I’ll wait.