"Claire Lamar!" says I. "Would that be---- Eh? What's wrong?" Mrs. Parker Smith seems to be gettin' a jolt of some kind, but she steadies herself and almost gets back her smile. "I--I am sure it would," says she. "It's very odd, though." "Oh, I don't know," says I. "Listens kind of arty--Claire Lamar. Lemme see. This snappy fifteen-center has editorial offices on Fourth Avenue and---- Well, well! Barry Frost, ad. manager! Say, if I can get him on the wire----" Just by luck, I did. Would he pry some facts for me out of the art editor, facts about a certain party? Sure he would. And inside of ten minutes, without leavin' the Corrugated General Offices, I had a full description of Claire, includin' where she hung out. "Huh!" says I. "Greenwich Village, eh? You might know." "My dear Lieutenant," says Mrs. Parker Smith, "I think you are perfectly wonderful." "Swell thought!" says I. "But you needn't let on to Mr. Ellins how simple it was. And now, all you got to do is----" "I know," she cuts in. "And I really ought not to trouble you another moment. But, since Mr. Ellins has been so kind--well, I am going to ask you to help me just a trifle more." "Shoot," says I, unsuspicious. It ain't much, she says. But she's afraid, if she trails Claire to her rooms, the young lady might send down word she was out, or make a quick exit. "But if you would go," she suggests, "with a note from me asking her to join us somewhere at dinner----" I holds up both hands. "Sorry," says I, "but I got to duck. That's taking too many chances." Then I explains how, although I may look like a singleton, I'm really the other half of a very interestin' domestic sketch, and that Vee's expectin' me home to dinner. "Why, all the better!" says Mrs. Parker Smith. "Have her come in and join us. I'll tell you: we will have our little party down at the old Napoleon, where they have such delicious French cooking. Now, please." As I've hinted before, she is some persuader. I ain't mesmerized so strong, though, but what I got sense enough to play it safe by callin' up Vee first. I don't think she was strong for joinin' the reunion until I points out that I might be some shy at wanderin' down into the art-student colony and collectin' a strange young lady illustrator all by myself. "Course, I could do it alone if I had to," I throws in. "H-m-m-m!" says Vee. "If that bashfulness of yours is likely to be as bad as all that, perhaps I'd better come." So by six o 'clock Vee and I are in the dinky reception-room of one of them Belasco boardin'-houses, tryin' to convince a young female in a paint-splashed smock and a floppy boudoir cap that we ain't tryin' to kidnap or otherwise annoy her. "What's the big idea?" says she. "I don't get you at all." "Maybe if you'd read the note it would help," I suggests. "Oh!" says she, and takes it over by the window.