Then when cold weather comes, instead of turnin' off his help, he springs his side line,--maybe workin' up the wood lot into shippin' crates, or developin' a stone quarry. Last I heard he was settin' out willows he'd imported from Holland, and was growin' and makin' fancy veranda furniture. He's rung in a whole town on the deal, and they was all gettin' a good thing out of it. Establishing community industries, is the way Dudley puts it. Says every jay burg ought to have one of its own. Most likely this was what he was so busy explainin' to Veronica. He's a good talker when he gets started too, and for such a quiet appearin' chap he can liven up a lot. Must have been goin' into the details deep with her; for they don't come back--and they don't come back. I'd read the evenin' papers, and poked up the log fire half a dozen times, and stood around watchin' the bridge game until I nearly yawned my head off; but they're still missin'. I'd just strolled around into the front hall, kind of scoutin' to see if he'd talked her to sleep, or whether she'd come back at him with some brainy fad of her own and was givin' him the chilly spine, when out through the door dashes Dudley Byron, runnin' his fingers through his hair desperate and glarin' around wild. "Aha!" says I. "So you got it too, did you?" "McCabe," says he, hoarse and husky, "I--I've done a dreadful thing!" "Why, Dudley!" says I. "I can't believe it." "But I have," says he, clawin' me on the shoulder. "Oh, I--I've disgraced myself!" "How?" says I. "Called some German composer out of his right name, or what?" "No, no!" says he. "I--I can't tell you." "Eh?" says I, starin' puzzled. "Well, you'd better." "True, I'm your guest," says he. "But--but I forgot myself." "Ah, cheer up," says I. "Veronica's a good sport. She wouldn't mind if you let slip a cussword." "Oh, you don't understand," says Dudley, wringin' his hands. "Really, I have done something awful!" "Come, come!" says I. "Let's have it, then." "Believe me," says he, "I was carried away, quite intoxicated." "Gwan!" says I. "Where'd you get the stuff?" "I mean," says he, "by her wonderful beauty. And then, McCabe, in one moment I--I kissed her!" "Great guns!" says I. "Didn't plant a reg'lar smack, did you?" He bows his head solemn. "Right on the lips," says he. "You see, we were talking, her lovely face was very close, her glorious eyes were shining into mine, when suddenly--well, it seemed as if I became dizzy, and the next moment I seized her brutally in my arms and--and----" "Good night!" says I, gaspin'. "What did she hit you with?" "I--I can't say exactly what happened next," says Dudley. "I think I dropped her and ran out here." "Of all the boob plays!" says I. "To take a Brodie plunge like that, and then do the fade-away!" "But what must I do now?" groans Dudley. "Oh, what can I do?" "Is she still in there?" says I. "I--I suppose so," says he.