A week of unseasonable weather had come upon the city. June was going out in a wave of torrid heat such as August might have boasted. The day had seemed endless and intolerably close. I was feeling very limp and languid. Perhaps, thought I, it was the heat which had wilted Blackie’s debonair spirits. “It has been a long time since we’ve had a talk-talk, Blackie. I’ve missed you. Also you look just a wee bit green around the edges. I’m thinking a vacation wouldn’t hurt you.” Blackie’s lean brown forefinger caressed the bowl of his favorite pipe. His eyes, that had been gazing out across the roofs beyond his window, came back to me, and there was in them a curious and quizzical expression as of one who is inwardly amused. “I’ve been thinkin’ about a vacation. None of your measly little two weeks’ affairs, with one week on salary, and th’ other without. I ain’t goin’ t’ take my vacation for a while—not till fall, p’raps, or maybe winter. But w’en I do take it, sa-a-ay, girl, it’s goin’ t’ be a real one.” “But why wait so long?” I asked. “You need it now. Who ever heard of putting off a vacation until winter!” “Well, I dunno,” mused Blackie. “I just made my arrangements for that time, and I hate t’ muss ’em up. You’ll say, w’en the time comes, that my plans are reasonable.” There was a sharp ring from the telephone at Blackie’s elbow. He answered it, then thrust the receiver into my hand. “For you,” he said. It was Von Gerhard’s voice that came to me. “I have something to tell you,” he said. “Something most important. If I call for you at six we can drive out to the bay for supper, yes? I must talk to you.” “You have saved my life,” I called back. “It has been a beast of a day. You may talk as much and as importantly as you like, so long as I am kept cool.” “That was Von Gerhard,” said I to Blackie, and tried not to look uncomfortable. “Mm,” grunted Blackie, pulling at his pipe. “Thoughtful, ain’t he?” I turned at the door. “He—he’s going away day after to-morrow, Blackie,” I explained, although no explanation had been asked for, “to Vienna. He expects to stay a year—or two—or three—” Blackie looked up quickly. “Goin’ away, is he? Well, maybe it’s best, all around, girl. I see his name’s been mentioned in all the medical papers, and the big magazines, and all that, lately. Gettin’ t’ be a big bug, Von Gerhard is. Sorry he’s goin’, though. I was plannin’ t’ consult him just before I go on my—vacation. But some other guy’ll do. He don’t approve of me, Von Gerhard don’t.” For some reason which I could never explain I went back into the room and held out both my hands to Blackie. His nervous brown fingers closed over them. “That doesn’t make one bit of difference to us, does it, Blackie?” I said, gravely. “We’re—we’re not caring so long as we approve of one another, are we?” “Not a bit, girl,” smiled Blackie, “not a bit.”