"Do!" she echoed with an intensity of tone and feeling I had never known her to display. "Do! We'll do something, I am sure! I will not for a moment submit to such an imposition. Who ever heard of such colossal nerve! That father and mother should be brought back and prosecuted. I shall report them to the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children. But we won't wait for such procedure. We'll express each and every Polydore to them at once." "I should certainly do that P.D.Q. and C.O.D.," I acquiesced, "if the Polydore parents could be located, but you know the abodes of aborigines are many and scattered." My remarks seemed to fall as flat as the flapjacks I was siruping. Silvia arose, determination in every lineament and muscle, and crossed the room. She opened the door leading into the kitchen. "Ptolemy," she demanded, "where have your father and mother gone?" He came forward and replied in a voice somewhat smothered by cakes and sirup. "I don't know. They didn't say." "We can find out from the ticket-agent," I optimistically assured her. "They never bother to buy tickets. Pay on the train," Ptolemy explained. My legal habit of counter-argument asserted itself. "We can easily ascertain to what point their baggage was checked," I remarked, again essaying to maintain a rôle of good cheer. But the pessimistic Ptolemy was right there with another of his gloom-casting retaliations. "They only took suit-cases and they always keep them in the car. Here's a check father said to give you to pay for our board. He said you could write in any amount you wanted to." "He got a lot of dough yesterday," informed Pythagoras, "and he put half of it in the bank here." Ptolemy handed over a check which was blank except for Felix Polydore's signature. "I don't see," I weakly exclaimed when my wife had closed the kitchen door, "why she put them off on _us_. Why didn't she trade her brats off for antiques?" Silvia eyed the check wistfully. I could read the unspoken thought that here, perhaps, was the opportunity for our much-desired trip. "No, Silvia," I answered quickly, "not for any number of blank checks or vacation trips shall you have the care and annoyance of those wild Comanches." "I know what I'll do!" she exclaimed suddenly. "I'll go right down to the intelligence office and get anything in the shape of a maid and put her in charge of the Polydore caravansary with double wages and every night out and any other privileges she requests." This seemed a sane and sensible arrangement, and I wended my way to my office feeling that we were out of the woods. When I returned home at noon, I found that we had only exchanged the woods for water--and deep water at that. I beheld a strange sight. Silvia sat by our bedroom window twittering soft, cooing nonsensical nothings to Diogenes, who was clasped in her arms, his flushed little face pressed close to her shoulder.