By heroic effort she pulled her face into sobriety
--all but her eyes--and announced:

``Mary Jane is--a man.''

``Wha-at?''

``A _man!_''

``Billy!''

Three masculine forms sat suddenly erect.

``Yes. Oh, Uncle William, I know now just
how you felt--I know, I know,'' gurgled Billy,
incoherently. ``There he stood with his pink
just as I did--only he had a brown beard, and
he didn't have Spunk--and I had to telephone
to prepare folks, just as you did. And the room
--the room! I fixed the room, too,'' she babbled
breathlessly, ``only I had curling tongs and hair
pins in it instead of guns and spiders!''

``Child, child! what _are_ you talking about?''
William's face was red.

``A _man!_--_Mary Jane!_'' Cyril was merely
cross.

``Billy, what does this mean?'' Bertram had