"We-e-ell," says she, "we were just wishing, Miss Stover and I, that we did have some gentleman friend who would----" "Count me in," says I. "What's the game? Trip to Woodlawn Cemetery some day, or do you want to be piloted up to Grant's Tomb?" No, it wa'n't either of them festive splurges she had in mind. They wanted a dinner escort for that evenin', she and Miss Stover. The other lady, she goes on to say, is a school teacher from up Boston way, that she'd made friends with durin' the summer. Miss Stover was takin' a year off, for the benefit of her nerves, and before she sailed on her Cook's trip abroad she thought she'd like to see a little of New York. They'd been tryin' to knock around some alone, and had got along all right daytimes, but hadn't dared venture out much at night. So if I wanted to be real generous, and it wouldn't be too much of a bore, they'd be very thankful if I would---- "In a minute," says I and, seein' I was up against it anyhow, I thought I might as well do it cheerful. "I'll be up about six, eh?" "Chee!" says Swifty Joe, who always has his ear stretched out on such occasions, "you make a noise like you was fixin' up a date." "What good hearin' you have, Swifty!" says I. "Some day, though, you'll strain one of them side flaps of yours. Yes, this is a date, and it's with two of the sportiest female parties that ever dodged an old ladies' home." Excitin' proposition, wa'n't it? I spends the next half-hour battin' my head to think of some first class food parlor where I could cart a couple like this Boston schoolma'am and Cousin Cornelia without shockin' 'em. There was the Martha Washington; but I knew I'd be barred there. Also there was some quiet fam'ly hotels I'd heard of up town; but I couldn't remember exactly what street any of 'em was on. "Maybe Cornelia will have some plans of her own," thinks I, as I gets into my silk faced dinner jacket and V-cut vest. "And I hope she ain't wearin' more'n two thicknesses of crape veil now." Well, soon after six I slides out, hops on one of these shed-as-you-enter surface cars, and rides up to the hotel. I'd been holdin' down one of the velvet chairs in the ladies' parlor for near half an hour, and was wonderin' if Cornelia had run out of black headed pins, or what, when I pipes off a giddy specimen in wistaria costume that drifts in and begins squintin' around like she was huntin' for some one. Next thing I knew she'd spotted me and was sailin' right over. "Oh, there you are!" she gurgles, holdin' out her hand. "Excuse me, lady," says I, sidesteppin' behind the chair, "but ain't you tryin' to tag the wrong party?" "Why," says she, lettin' out a chuckle, "don't you know me, Mr. McCabe?" "Not yet," says I; "but it looks like I would if----Great snakes!"