"Mr. Jefferson, my nephew," Skinski was saying, "insisted that we
should hit the suburban trail and locate your shack. Here's a note
from nephew Bunch for you."

Skinski handed me the note with a face as solemn as a
monkey-wrench, and I read it:


CITY, Sunday P.M.

DEAR JOHN--I send herewith the two rosebuds. As a favor to your
old pal please treat my beloved relatives with every consideration
and make a fuss over them. You know you told them in the
restaurant to come and see you. They want to make good and will
stay a week if you insist.

With kindest regards,
BUNCH.

P. S. Don't drag Aunt Flora into any literary discussions--she
might hand you something. Her favorite author is Pommery Sec., the
chap who writes all those frothy books.

B.


"I wish you could have seen our place in the day-time," Peaches was
saying to Skinski when I finished reading Bunch's get-back. "We
think it's delightful out here. Did you, have much trouble in