Almost immediately, Aunt Gretchen ferreted us out. Aunt Gretchen has long-since lost the smooth silhouette for which the Nicholas women are noted. She has broadened in all departments and she came waddling along between banks of yellow roses in a manner suggesting an outraged circus tent. "Homer," she called. "Homer!" I reluctantly took my hands away and answered her. "Oh, there you are! Homer--I want an explanation." "An explanation of what?" "There is a person at the door who calls himself Bag Ears Mulligan. He has the audacity to claim you invited him to--to this _brawl_ as he terms it." I must here explain--with sorrow--that my Aunt Gretchen is a snob. There is no other term for it. It has gotten to be such a habit with her that any friend of mine is automatically a person to be looked down on. And Bag Ears Mulligan is one of my dearest friends. Of course I had invited him to my wedding, and felt honored by his attendance. Bag Ears is a habitue of one of the less glittering places I frequent in search of lasting fellowship--Red Nose Tessie's Bar, to be exact. A place of dirty beer glasses but of warm hearts and sincere people. "I'll see this man, Aunt Gretchen," I said with calm dignity. "He is to be an honored guest. While somewhat rugged in appearance, Bag Ears has a sensitive nature and must be treated with understanding." Aunt Gretchen's lips quivered. "Homer--I'm through--absolutely and finally through! You can get someone else to handle your next wedding reception. Hold it in a barn or a stable. Never again in my house." After this tactless outburst, Aunt Gretchen came about and sailed out of the conservatory. Joy and I followed wordlessly. Upon arriving at the front door, we found Aunt Gretchen had spoken the truth. Bag Ears was waiting there. He had been herded into a corner by Johnson, Aunt Gretchen's stuffed shirt of a butler, who was standing guard over him. Bag Ears grinned happily when he caught sight of me and I smiled reassuringly. While Bag Ears is not too richly endowed with good looks, he has a great heart and at one time was possessed of a lightning-fast brain. However, he took a great deal of punishment during his unsuccessful climb toward the lightweight title, and his brain has been slowed down to the point where it sometimes comes to a complete halt. His features reflect the fury of a hundred battles in the squared ring. They are in a sad state, his ears particularly. They hang wearily downward like the leaves of a dying cabbage plant. Also, Bag Ears has fallen into the misfortune of hearing bells at various times--bells that exist only in his poor, bewildered mind. But he is cheerful and warm-hearted nonetheless. He said, "Homer, this character says I should o' brung along my invite. But I don't remember you givin' me one. You just ast me to come." "That is true," I returned, "and you are most welcome. You may go, Johnson." I gave the butler a cold look and he stalked away.