be missed more.

Yet J. Meredith takes it cheerful. Always has a smile as he pushes
through the brass gate, comin' or goin', and stands all the joshin'
that's handed out to him without gettin' peevish. So when he springs
this over-Sunday invite I don't feel like turnin' it down. Course, I'm
wise that it's sort of a charity contribution on his part. He puts it
well, though.

"It may be rather a dull way for you to pass the day," says he; "but
I'd like to have you come."

"Let's see," says I. "Vincent won't be expectin' me up to Newport
until later in the season, the Bradley Martins are still abroad, I've
cut the Reggy Vanderbilts, and--well, you're on, Merry. Call it the
last of the month, eh?"

"The fourth Saturday, then," says he. "Good!"

I was blamed near lettin' the date get past me too, when he stops me as
I'm pikin' for the dairy lunch Friday noon. "Oh, I say, Torchy," says
he, "ah--er--about tomorrow. Hope you don't mind my mentioning it, but
there will be two other guests--ladies--at dinner tomorrow night."

He seemed some fussed at gettin' it out; so I catches the cue quick.
"That's easy," says I. "Count me out until another time."

"Oh, not at all," says he. "In fact, you're expected. I merely wished
to suggest, you know, that--er--well, if you cared to do so, you might
bring along a suit of dark clothes."