I draws a long breath and gazes admiring at Cyril.  Then I turns to the Westlakes.

“Westy,” says I, “do you want to accommodate Mr. Snee with a fresh chance of perfectin’ himself for the Sublime Order?”

He nods.  So does Doris.

“It’s a unanimous vote, Cyril,” says I.  “You’re fired.  Not for failin’ to duck the roast, understand, but because you’re too gabby.”

“Thank you, sir,” says he, actin’ a little disappointed.  “I am to leave at once, I suppose?”

“No,” says I.  “Stop long enough in the kitchen to tell Cook she gets the chuck, too.  After that, if you ain’t qualified as Grand Imperial Organizer of the whole United States, then the Sacred Owls don’t know their business.  By-by, Cyril.  We’re backin’ you to win, remember.”

And as I pushes him through the pantry door I locks it behind him.  Followin’ which, Doris uses the powder-puff under her eyes a little and we adjourns to the Plutoria palm-room, where we had a perfectly good dinner, all the humility Westy could buy with a two-dollar tip, and no folksy chatter on the side.

Next day the Westlakes calls up another agency, and by night they had an entire new line of help on the job.

What do you guess, though?  Here yesterday afternoon I leaves the office on the jump and chases up to the apartment house where Vee and Auntie are settled for the winter.  My idea was that I might catch Vee comin’ home from a shoppin’ orgie, or the matinee, or something, and get a few minutes’ conversation in the lobby.

The elevator-boy says she’s out, too, so it looks like I was a winner.  I waits half an hour and she don’t show up, and I’m just about to take a chance on ringin’ up Auntie for information, when in she comes, chirky and smilin’, with rose leaves sprinkled on both cheeks and her eyes sparklin’.  Also she has a bundle of books under one arm.

“Why the literature?” says I.  “Goin’ to read Auntie to sleep?”

“There!” says she, poutin’ cute.  “I wasn’t going to let anyone know.  I’ve started in at college.”

“Wha-a-at!” says I.  “You ain’t never goin’ to be a lady doctor or anything like that, are you?”

“I am taking a course at Columbia,” says Vee, “in domestic science.  Doris is doing it, too.  And such fun!  To-day we learned how to make a bed—­actually made it up, too.  To-morrow I am going to boil potatoes.”

“Hel-lup!” says I.  “You are?  Say, how long does this last?”

“It’s a two-year course,” says Vee.

“Stick to it,” says I.  “That’ll give me time to take lessons from Westy on how to get an income wished onto me.”

As it stands, though, Vee’s got me distanced.  Please, ain’t somebody got a plute aunt to spare?

CHAPTER II

TOWING CECIL TO A SMEAR

Just think!  If it had turned out a little different I might have been called to stand on a platform in front of City Hall while the Mayor wished a Victoria Cross or something like that on me.