of that."

"Ah, buck up!" say I. "Maybe you can fake an alibi in the mornin'.
Anyway, you can't spend the night here. You got to report to Aunty."

He lets out another groan, and then gets on his feet. "There's a path
through the bushes along here somewhere," says he.

"No more cross country work in full dress clothes for me," says I.
"We'll sneak down the Hibbs's drive where the goin's easy."

We was doin' it real sleuthy too, keepin' on the lawn and dodgin' from
shadow to shadow, when just as we're passin' the house Merry has to
stub his toe and drop his blamed cornet with a bang.

Then out from a second story window floats a voice: "Who is that,
please?"

Merry nudges me in the ribs. "Tell them it's you," he whispers.

"Why, it's--it's me--Torchy," says I reluctant.

"Oh! Ah!" says a couple of voices in chorus. Then one of 'em goes on,
"The young man who is visiting dear Meredith?"

"Yep," says I. "Same one."

"But it wasn't you playing the cornet so beautifully, was it?" comes
coaxin' from the window.