"Stop! I won't have you call yourself old--or fogyish, either!
You're the farthest possible removed from that! Why, you're no
older than Al Hendricks."

"You were all children together," said Aunt Abby, as if
imparting a bit of new information; "you three, and Mason
Elliott. Why, when you were ten or eleven, Eunice, those three
boys were eternally camping out in the front yard, waiting for
you to get your hair curled and go out to play. And later, they
all hung around to take you to parties, and then, later still
--not so much later, either--they all wanted to marry you."

"Why, Auntie, you're telling the 'whole story of my life and
what's my real name!'--Sanford knows all this, and knows that he
cut out the other two--though I'm not saying they wanted to marry
me."

"It goes without saying," and her husband gave her a gallant bow.
"But, great heavens, Eunice, if you'd married those other two--I
mean one of 'em--either one--you'd have been decidedly out of
your element. Hendricks, though a bully chap, is a man of
impossible tastes, and Elliott is a prig--pure and simple! I,
you see, strike a happy medium. And, speaking of such things,
are your mediums always happy, Aunt Abby?"

"How you do rattle on, Sanford! A true medium is so absorbed in
her endeavors, so wrapped up in her work, she is, of course,
happy--I suppose. I never thought about it."

"Well, don't go out of your way to find out. It isn't of vital