"Young man," says she, turnin' on me severe, "what's going on here to-night?" "Dinner dance, that's all," says I. "You mean they're having a lot of company in?" says she. I nods. "Then that settles it!" says she. "We don't go a step nearer to-night. But where we will stay, goodness only knows!" She was pikin' off, her chin in the air, when it struck me that if these really was jay relations of the Twombley-Cranes, maybe I ought to lend 'em a helpin' hand. So I trails along until she brings up beside another party who seems to be waitin' patient just under the front windows. He's a tall, stoop-shouldered gent, with a grayish mustache and a good deal of gold watch chain looped across his vest. In each hand he's holdin' a package careful by the strings, and between his feet is one of these extension canvas grips that you still see in use out in the kerosene circuit. "Excuse me, Ma'am," says I, "but I'm more or less a friend of the fam'ly, and if you've come on special to visit 'em, maybe you'd better wait while I let 'em know you're here. My name's McCabe, and if you'll give me yours, why----" "I'm Mrs. Sallie Leavitt, of Clarks Mills," says the old girl. "Oh, yes," says I, "Clarks Mills. Up Skowhegan way, ain't it?" "Vermont," says she. "This is Mr. Leavitt. I'm much obliged to you, Mr. McCabe, but you needn't bother about tellin' anyone anything. If they've got company, that's enough. I wish I'd never left Clarks Mills, that's what I wish!" "Now, Sallie!" protests the other half of the sketch, speakin' mild and gentle. "That'll do, Mr. Leavitt!" says she decided. "You know very well it was all along of your fussing and fretting about never having seen your cousin that we come to make this fool trip, anyway." "I realize that, Sallie," says he; "but----" "Mr. Leavitt," she breaks in, "will you be careful of them pies?" Then she turns to me apologizin'. "Course, it does seem sort of silly, travelin' around New York with two pumpkin pies; but I didn't know how good a cook the folks had here; and besides I don't take a back seat for anybody when it comes to mince or pumpkin. You see, I was planning to surprise Cousin Twombley by slipping 'em onto the table to-morrow for breakfast." Say, the thought of what the Twombley-Cranes' English flunkies would do at the sight of pumpkin pie on the breakfast table was most too much for me. As it was, I had a bad coughin' fit, and when I recovered I suggests eager, "Well, why not? They'll keep a day or so, won't they?" "Not while I'm as hungry as I am now," says she. "And I'm dog tired too. Young man, where'll we find a good, respectable tavern around here?" "A which?" says I. "Oh! I get you--hotel. Now let's see. Why, I expect the best thing you can do is to jump in one of these motor buses and ride down to--no, I might's well go along, as it's right on my way home. Here's one coming now."