you to look me up once more, perfectly charming!"

"Rot!" growls Whity. "You know I was sent up here to do this blooming
spread of yours. What sort of fake is it, anyway?"

"Ha, ha! Same old Whity!" says Virgil, poundin' him hearty on the
shoulder. "But you're always welcome, my boy. As for the tea--well,
one of my little affairs, you know,--just a few friends dropping
in--feast of reason, flow of wit, all that sort of thing. You know how
to put it. Don't forget my costume--picked it up at a Trappist
monastery in the Pyrenees. I must give you some photos I've had taken
in it. Ah, another knight of the pencil?" and he glances inquirin' at
me.

"City Press," says Whity.

"Fine!" says Virgie, beamin'. "Well, you boys make yourselves quite at
home. I'll send Marie over with cigars and cigarettes. She'll help
you to describe any of the ladies' costumes you may care to mention.
Here's a list of the invited guests too. Now I must be stirring about.
_Au revoir_."

"Ass!" snarls Whity under his breath. "If I don't give him a roast,
though,--one of the veiled sarcastic kind that will get past! And we
must find some way of queering him with that rich widow."

"Goin' to be some contract, Whity, believe me!" says I. "Look how
she's taggin' him around!"

And, say, Cousin Inez sure had the scoopnet out for him! Every move he