"Well, if this don't froth the eggs!" says she, pattin' me chummy on the shoulder. "Havin' you show up like this! And, say, lemme put you wise,--here's where you want to stick around for a week or so. Yea, Bo! Perfectly swell bunch here, and something doin' every minute. Why, say, me and Deary has been here six weeks, and we've been havin' the time of our lives. Know what they call me here? Well, I'm the Hot Baby of Sunset Lake; and that ain't any bellboy's dream, either! I'm the one that starts things. Yes, and I keep 'em goin' too. Just picked this place out from the resort ads in the Sunday edition; and it was some prize pick, believe me! 'A quiet, refined patronage of exclusive people,' the picture pamphlet puts it, and I says to Deary, 'Me for that, with three wardrobe trunks full of glad rags.' So you can tell your friend with the face privet that we got to the country after all. Did I miss my guess? Never a miss! Why, say, some of these swell parties lives on West End avenue and the Drive, and I can call half of 'em by their first names. Can't I, Deary?" And Hackett Wells nods, smilin' at her fond and sappy. "Drop round to the dancin' pavilion later," says she, "and watch me push him through the onestep. After that me and one of the boys is goin' to tear off a little Maxixe stuff that'll be as good as a cabaret act, and about ten-thirt we'll tease Deary into openin' a couple of quarts in the cafe. So long! Don't forget, now!" And off she floats, noddin' cheerful right and left, and bein' escorted to her table by both head waiters. I couldn't stave off meetin' Sadie's glance any longer. "Eh?" says I. "Why, that's only Mabel. Cunnin' little thing, ain't she?" "Shorty," demands Sadie, "where on earth did you ever meet such a person?" Then, of course, I had to sketch out the whole story. It was high time; for Sadie's lips was set more or less firm. But when she hears about J. Bayard's wise-boy plans for settlin' the Hackett Wells in some pastoral paradise, and how they got ditched by militant Mabel, she indulges in a grim smile. "A brilliant pair of executors you and Mr. Steele are," says she, "if this is a sample of your work!" "Ah, come, don't be rough, Sadie!" says I. "It's hard to tell, you know. What's the odds if they do have to go back to their little Eighth avenue flat next week? They're satisfied. Anyway, Mabel is. She's New York born and bred, she is, and now that she's had her annual blow she don't care what happens. Next year, if Deary hangs on, they'll have another." "But it's so foolish of them!" insists Sadie. "What else do you expect from a pair like that?" says I. "It's what they want most, ain't it? And there's plenty like 'em. No, they ain't such bad folks, either. Their hearts are all there. Just a case of vacancy in the upper stories: nobody home, you know." CHAPTER XI UNDER THE WIRE WITH EDWIN