Seems that Aunt Isabella has been keepin' special tabs on Maggie, callin' at the laundry to give her good advice, and leavin' her books to read,--which I got a tintype of her readin', not,--and otherwise doin' the upliftin' act accordin' to rule. But along in the early summer Maggie had quit the laundry without consultin' the old girl about it. Aunt Isabella kept on the trail, though, run down her last boardin' place, and begun writin' her what she called helpful letters. She kept this up until she was handed the ungrateful jolt. The last letter come back to her with a few remarks scribbled across the face, indicatin' that readin' such stuff gave Maggie a pain in the small of her back. But the worst of it all was, accordin' to Aunt Isabella, that Maggie was in Coney Island. "Think of it!" says she. "That poor, innocent girl, living in that dreadfully wicked place! Isn't it terrible?" "Oh, I don't know," says I. "It all depends." "Hey?" says the old girl. "What say?" Ever try to carry on a debate through a silver salt shaker? It's the limit. Thinkin' it would be a lot easier to agree with her, I shouts out, "Sure thing!" and nods my head. She nods back and rolls her eyes. "She must be rescued at once!" says Aunt Isabella. "Her uncle ought to be notified. Can't you send for him?" As it happens, Dennis had come down that mornin' to see an old friend of his that was due to croak; so I figures it out that the best way would be to get him and the old lady together and let 'em have it out. I chases Swifty down to West 11th-st. to bring Dennis back in a hurry, and invites Aunt Isabella to make herself comfortable until he comes. She's too excited to sit down, though. She goes pacin' around the front office, now and then lookin' me over suspicious,--me bein' still in my gym. suit,--and then sizin' up the sportin' pictures on the wall. My art exhibit is mostly made up of signed photos of Jeff and Fitz and Nelson in their ring costumes, and it was easy to see she's some jarred. "I hope this is a perfectly respectable place, young man," says she. "It ain't often pulled by the cops," says I. Instead of calmin' her down, that seems to stir her up worse'n ever. "I should hope not!" says she. "How long must I wait here?" "No longer'n you feel like waitin', ma'am," says I. And just then the gym. door opens, and in walks the Bishop, that I'd clean forgot all about. "Why, Bishop!" squeals Aunt Isabella. "You here!" Say, it didn't need any second sight to see that the Bishop would have rather met 'most anybody else at that particular minute; but he hands her the neat return. "It appears that I am," says he. "And you?" Well, it was up to her to do the explainin'. She gives him the whole history of Maggie Whaley, windin' up with how she's been last heard from at Coney Island. "Isn't it dreadful, Bishop?" says she. "And can't you do something to help rescue her?"