"Oh, he is," says Ferdy; "but if you can't come this week----"

"Got to," says I. "'Leven months, and me never so much as chucked him
under the chin once! Gee! how careless of me!"

"All right, Sunday next," says Ferdy. "We shall look for you."

That was throwin' in reverse a little sudden, I admit; but my chances
of gettin' within hailin' distance of Vee ain't so many that I can
afford to overlook any bets. Besides, up at Marjorie's is about the
only place where I don't have to run the gauntlet goin' in, or do a
slide for life comin' out. She'll shinny on my side every trip,
Marjorie will--and believe me I need it all!

Looked like a special dispensation too, this bid of Ferdy's; for I
wanted half an hour's private chat with Vee the worst way just then, to
clear up a few things. For instance, my last two letters had come back
with "Refused" scratched across the face, and I didn't know whether it
was some of Aunty's fine work, or what. Anyway, it's been a couple of
months now that the wires have been down between us, and I was more or
less anxious to trace the break.

So Sunday afternoon don't find me missin' any suburban local. Course,
Ferdy's mighty intellect ain't suggested to him anything about askin'
me out for a meal; so I has to take a chance on what time to land
there. But I strikes the mat about two-thirty P. M., and the first one
to show up is Marjorie, lookin' as plump and bloomin' a corn-fed Venus
as ever.

"Why, Torchy!" says she, with business of surprise.