And all the time she talks she's goin' through target practice with her eyes, usin' me as the mark. A lively pair of lamps Gladys has too, the big, innocent, baby-blue kind that sort of opens up wide and kind of invites you to gaze into the depths until you get dizzy. Them and the little, openin' rosebud mouth makes a strong combination, and if it hadn't been for the mural decorations I might have fallen hard for Gladys; but ever since I leaned up against a shiny letterbox once I've been shy of fresh paint. So I proceeds to hand out the defensive josh. "Roll 'em away, Sis," says I, "roll 'em the other way!" "Pooh!" says she. "Can't a person even look at you?" "You're only wastin' ammunition," says I. "You can't put any spell on me, you know." "Oh, really!" says she, rakin' me with a quick broadside. "Do you mean that you don't like me at all?" "Since you've called for it," says I, "I'll admit I ain't strong for these spotlight color schemes, specially on kids." "Kids!" she sputters. "I think you're perfectly horrid, so there!" "Stick to it," says I. "Makes me feel better satisfied with myself." "Redhead!" says she, runnin' her tongue out. "Yes, clear to the roots," says I, "and the tint didn't come out of a bottle, either." "I don't care," says she. "All the girls do it." "Your bunch, maybe," says I; "but there's a few that don't." "Old sticks, yes," says she. "I'm glad you like that kind. You're as bad as Mummah." "Is that the worst you can say of me?" says I. "How that would please Mother!" Oh, sure, quite a homelike little spat we had, passin' the left handers back and forth--and inside of five minutes she has made it all up again and is holdin' out her hand for the last gumdrop. "You're silly; but you're rather nice, after all," says she, poutin' her lips at me. "Now quit that," says I. "I got my fingers crossed." "'Fraid cat!" says she. "But here's the house, and we're frightfully early. Now don't act as though you thought I might bite you. I'm going to take your arm." She does too, and cuddles up kittenish as we lands at the porte cochere. I gets the idea of this move. She's caught a glimpse of a little group over by the front door, and she wants to make a showy entrance. And who do you guess it is we finds arrangin' the flower vases? Oh, only Marjorie and Miss Vee. Here I am too, with giddy Gladys, the imitation front row girl, clingin' tight to my right wing. You should have seen Vee's eyebrows go up, also Marjorie's stare. It's a minute or so before she recognizes our little friend, and stands there lookin' puzzled at us. Talk about your embarrassin' stage waits! I could feel my face pinkin' up and my ears tinglin'. "Ah, say," I breaks out, "don't tell me I've gone and collected the wrong one!" At that there comes a giggle from under the zippy lid. "Why, it's Gladys!" says Marjorie. "Well, I never!" "Of course, you dear old goose!" says Gladys, and rushes to a clinch.