gets this sudden hunch the other night about runnin' up for a little
unlisted chat with Vee, I must have forgotten. Not one of my regular
evenin's, you understand, nor any special date: I was just takin' a
chance. And when the maid tells me Miss Vee and Auntie have gone out for
an after-dinner stroll on the Drive, I chucks my new felt-rim straw on
the hall table and remarks careless that, as Auntie ain't likely to do
any Marathon before bedtime, I guess I'll wait.

Helma grins. "Mees Burr, she in bookrary, yes," says she.

"Oh!" says I. "The cousin? That'll be all the better. Good chance for
me to be gettin' in right with her. Tell her what to expect, Helma."

That's the sort of social plunger I am--regular drawing-room daredevil,
facin' all comers, passin' out the improvised stuff to strangers, and
backin' myself strong for any common indoor event. That is, I was until
about 8:13 that evenin'. Then I got in range of them quick-firin' dart
throwers belongin' to Miss Myra Burr.

Say, there's some people that shouldn't be allowed at large without
blinders on. Myra's one. Her eyes are the stabby kind, worse than long
hatpins. Honest, after one glance I felt like I was bein' held up on a
fork.

"Ouch!" says I, under my breath. But she must have heard.

"I beg pardon," says she. "Did you say something?"

"Side remark to my elbow," says I. "Must have caught the decreasing as I
came through. Excuse it."