In the kitchen I found Clara J., her headache forgotten, busily
preparing to cook the dinner.

She's a foxy little bundle of peaches, that girl is; and I was wise
to the fact that her suspicion factory was still working over-time,
turning out material for the undersigned.

I felt it in my bones that the steer I gave her about Aunt Eliza
had been placed in cold storage for safe keeping.

Her brain was busy running to the depot to meet the scandal Bunch's
telegram hinted at, but she pretended to catch step and walk along
with me.

"John," she said, "I certainly do hope your relatives won't come
out for some little time, because we really aren't ready for
visitors, now are we, dear?"

"Indeed we are not," I groaned.

"I can't help thinking it awfully strange that you should be
notified of their coming by Mr. Jefferson, and in such peculiar
language," she said, after a pause.

"Didn't I tell you Bunch is a low comedian," I said, weakly.
"Besides, he knows them very well. Aunt Fanny is very fond of
Bunch."

"Aunt Fanny," she repeated, dropping a tin pan to the floor with a