"And I haven't your letters. I doubt if I've ever met your
grandfather. In fact, I think it very improbable that you
yourself were alive in 1881."

Marcia stared at him in wonder.

"Me--1881? Why sure! I was second-line stuff when the Florodora
Sextette was still in the convent. I was the original nurse to
Mrs. Sol Smith's Juliette. Why, Omar, I was a canteen singer
during the War of 1812."

Horace's mind made a sudden successful leap, and he grinned.

"Did Charlie Moon put you up to this?"

Marcia regarded him inscrutably.

"Who's Charlie Moon? "

"Small--wide nostrils--big ears."

She grew several inches and sniffed.

"I'm not in the habit of noticing my friends' nostrils.

"Then it was Charlie?"

Marcia bit her lip--and then yawned. "Oh, let's change the
subject, Omar. I'll pull a snore in this chair in a minute."