"Oh, yes," adds Doris. "You too, Torchy."

Vee had to 'phone Auntie and get Doris to back her up before the
special dispensation was granted; but at six-thirty the four of us
starts uptown for this brownstone bird-cage of happiness that Westy has
taken a five-year lease of.

"Just think!" says Vee, as we unloads from the taxi. "You with a house
of your own, and managing servants, and--"

"Oh!" remarks Doris, as she pushes the button. "I do hope you won't
mind Cyril."

"Mind who?" says Vee.

"He--he's our butler," explains Westy. "I suppose he's a very good
butler, too--the man at the employment agency said he was; but--er--"

"I'm sure he is," puts in Doris, "even if he does look a little odd.
Then there is his name--Cyril Snee. Of course, Cyril doesn't sound
just right for a butler, does it? But Snee is so--so--"

"Isn't it?" says Vee. "I should call him Cyril."

"We started in that way," says Doris, "but he asked us not to; said he
preferred to be called Snee. It was unusual, and besides he had
private reasons. So between ourselves we speak of him as Cyril, and to
his face-- Well, I suppose we shall get used to saying Snee, though--
Why, where can he be? I've rung twice and-- Oh, here he comes!"