“I guess I’ll wait for Oliver to come home,” said he guiltily. “I want to see what’s in them telegrams. You—you’re sure about that woman having dark hair?” “Absolutely.” “Well, that’s a comfort. I—Hello! Here comes Oliver now—but, by thunder, he’s got that yaller-haired woman with him,” he concluded in dismay. “No, thank you, Serepty—I can’t stay for supper. I—I—” He got up quickly, pulled his straw hat down low over his eyes, and started hurriedly down the walk. “Hello, Uncle Joe,” called out Oliver, swinging the car into the drive. “Wait a minute and I’ll give you a lift home. I’m going back just as soon as I’ve changed my collar and—” “There’s a lot of telegrams here from your father,” said Joseph gruffly. He halted half way down the walk and stared intently at Mrs. Flame. Oliver brought the car to a stop in front of the porch. “I’ll be out in a couple of minutes, Sylvia,” he said as he slid out from behind the wheel. “Hey, Uncle Joe! Come here, please. I want to introduce you to the lady you’ve been raising such a rumpus about. She swears she won’t scratch your eyes out or pull your hair. You needn’t look so scared. She’s perfectly harmless. Take my word for it. I’ve had experience with fair women, as you well know, and I don’t find ’em any more devilish than dark women.” Mr. Sikes was scandalized. He turned purple in the face—not with anger but with mortification. He told Mr. Link afterwards that he felt like a fool, and Mr. Link brought a lot of wrath down upon himself by remarking that it must have been wonderful for him to feel natural for once in his life. He approached the dazzling, radiant Mrs. Flame reluctantly, stammering something about “horse play” and “poppycock.” “Do you think there is going to be a storm, Mr. Sikes?” she inquired, as Oliver, grinning maliciously, dashed up the steps and followed Mrs. Grimes into the house. Mr. Sikes did not answer at once. He was squinting narrowly at Mrs. Flame’s back hair—or more particularly at a spot just below the left ear. “By jiminy,” he muttered softly, “she’s right.” Then recovering himself, he said: “Eh?” “Mr. Baxter is a great tease, isn’t he?” she substituted. “He’s a darned nuisance,” said Mr. Sikes sharply. “Makes me tired.” Suddenly it occurred to him that here was a chance not to be overlooked, so he added very firmly: “I pity the woman that gets him for a husband.” “You do? Why, I should say that the woman who gets him is about the luckiest person in the world.” He looked at her piercingly. “How long did you say you’ve knowed him?” he inquired. “I didn’t say—but there’s no harm in telling you, I suppose.” She began counting on her fingers. “Nine days, Mr. Sikes.” “It takes him just about that long,” was his cryptic rejoinder. She laughed merrily. “Do they fall for him as easily as all that?” “The married ones do,” said he darkly and daringly. “Oh, that lets me out,” she said. “You see, I’m not married, Mr. Sikes.”