Makes an evenin' call quite an excitin' game; and when we work in a few
minutes of hand-holdin', or I get away with a hasty clinch, why, that
scores for our side. So, for a personally conducted affair, it ain't
so poor. I'm missin' no dates, I notice. And tuck this away; if it
was a case of Vee and a whole squad of aunts, or an uninterrupted
two-some with one of these nobody-home dolls, I'd pick Vee and the
gallery. Uh-huh! I'm just that good to myself.

All was goin' along smooth and merry, too, until one Wednesday night I
discovers another lid ahead of mine on the hall table. It's a glossy
silk tile, with a pair of gray castor gloves folded neat alongside.
Seein' which I reaches past Helma for the silver card-tray.

"Huh!" says I under my breath. "Now, who the giddy gallowampuses is
Clyde Creighton?"

"Vair nice gentlemans, Meester Creeton," whispers Helma.

"I know," says I; "you're judgin' by the hat."

She springs that silly grin of hers, as usual. No matter what I say,
it gets open-faced motions out of Helma. But I really wasn't feelin'
so humorous. Whoever he was, this Creighton guy had come the wrong
evenin'. Course, I judged it must be Vee he's callin' on, and I wasn't
strong for a three-handed session just then. There was something
special I wanted to talk over with Vee this particular evenin', and I
couldn't see why--

But, my first glimpse of Clyde soothes me down a lot. He has curly