"Oh--er--Torchy," he adds.

"Well?" says I over my shoulder.

"Might one inquire," says he, "is it distress, or only disposition?"

"It ain't the effect of too much fresh air, anyway," says I.

"Ah!" says he, sort of reflective. "Feeling the need of a half
holiday, are you?"

"Humph!" says I. "What's the good of an afternoon off?"

He'd just come back from a two weeks' cruise, Mr. Robert had, lookin'
tanned and husky, and a little later on he was goin' off on another
jaunt. Course, that's all right, too. I'd take 'em oftener if I was
him. But hanged if I'd sit there starin' puzzled at any one else who
couldn't, the way he was doin' at me!

"Mr. Robert," says I, spunkin' up sudden, "what's the matter with me
takin' a vacation?"

"Why," says he, "I--I presume it might be arranged. When would you
wish to go?"

"When?" says I. "Why, now--tonight. Say, honest, if I try to stick
out the week I'll get to be a grouch nurser, like Piddie. I'm sick of
the shop, sick of answerin' buzzers, sick of everything!"