The driver grins good-natured and stows us into a two-seated sleigh, and off we're whirled, bells jinglin', for half a mile or so through the stinging mornin' air. Next thing I know, I'm bein' towed up to a desk and a hotel register is shoved at me. Just like an old-timer, I dashes off my name--Richard T. Ballard. The mild-eyed gent with the close-cropped Vandyke and the gold-rimmed glasses glances over at Vee. "Ah--er--I thought Mrs. Ballard was with you!" says he. "That's so; she is," says I, grabbin' the pen again and tackin' "Mr. and Mrs." in front of my autograph. That's why, while we're fixin' up a bit before goin' down to breakfast, I has this little confidential confab with Vee. "It's no use, Vee," says I. "I'm a rank amateur. We might just as well have rice and confetti all over us. I've made two breaks already, and I'm liable to make more. We can't bluff 'em." "Who wants to?" says Vee. "I'm not ashamed of being on my honeymoon; are you?" "Good girl!" says I. "You bet I ain't. I thought the usual line, though, was to pretend you'd----" "I know," says Vee. "And I always thought that was perfectly silly. Besides, I don't believe we could fool anyone if we tried. It's much simpler not to bother. Let them guess." "And grin too, eh?" says I. "We'll grin back." Say, that's the happy hunch. Leaves you with nothing to worry about. All you got to do is go ahead and enjoy yourself, free and frolicsome. So when this imposin' head waitress with the forty-eight bust and the grand duchess air bears down on us majestic, and inquires dignified, "Two, sir?" I don't let it stagger me. "Two'll be enough," says I. "But whisper. Seein' as we're only startin' in on the twosome breakfast game, maybe you could find something nice and cheerful by a window. Eh?" It's some breakfast. M-m-m-m! Cute little country sausages, buckwheat cakes that would melt in your mouth, with strained honey to go on 'em. "Have a fourth buckwheat," says I. "No fair, keeping count!" says Vee. "I looked the other way when you took your fifth." Honest, I can't see where we acted much different than we did before. Somehow, we always could find things to giggle over. We sure had a good time takin' our first after-breakfast stroll together down Main Street, Vee in her silver-fox furs and me in my new mink-lined overcoat that Mr. Robert had wished on me casual just before we left. "Cunnin' little town, eh?" says I. "Looks like a birthday cake." "Or a Christmas card," says Vee. "Look at this old door with the brass knocker and the green fan-light above. Isn't that Colonial, though?" "It's an old-timer, all right," says I. "Hello! Here's a place worth rememberin'--the Woman's Exchange. Now I'll know where to go in case I should want to swap you off." For which crack I gets shoved into a snowdrift.