Blamed if it ain't the cooin' widow. She's right there with the old familiar purry gush, too, squeezin' my fingers kittenish and askin' me how "dear, sweet Verona" is. I was just noticin' that she'd ditched the half mournin' for some real zippy raiment when she leans back so as to exhibit a third party in the taxi--a young gent with one of these dead-white faces and a cute little black mustache--reg'lar lounge-lizard type. "Oh, and you must meet my dear friend, Mr. Vinton Bartley," she purrs. "Vinton, this is the Torchy I've spoken about so often." "Ah, ya-a-as," drawls Vinton, blowin' out a whiff of scented cigarette smoke lazy. "Quite so. But--er--hadn't we best be getting on, Lorina?" "Yes, yes," coos Mrs. Mumford. "By-by, Captain. Good-by, Torchy." And off they whirls, leavin' me with my mouth open and Rupert starin' after 'em gloomy. "Lorina, eh?" says I. "How touchin'!" Killam only grunts, but it struck me he has tinted up a bit under the eyes. "Say, Rupert," I goes on, "who's your languid friend with the cream-of-cabbage complexion?" "Bartley?" says he. "Oh, he's a friend of Mrs. Mumford; a drama-tist--so he says." Now, I might have let it ride at that and gone along about my own affairs, which ain't so pressin' just then. Yes, I might. But I don't. Maybe it was hornin' in where there was no welcome sign on the mat, and then again perhaps it was only a natural folksy feelin' for an old friend I hadn't seen for a long time. Anyway, I'm prompted sudden to take Rupert by the arm and insist that he must come and have lunch with me. "Why--er--thanks," says the Captain; "but I have a little business to attend to in here." And he nods to an office buildin'. "That'll be all right, too," says I. "I'll wait." "Will you?" says Rupert, beamin'. "I shall be pleased." So in less'n half an hour I have Rupert planted cozy at a corner table with a mixed grill in front of him, and I'm givin' him the cue for openin' any confidential chat he may have on hand. He's a good deal of a clam, though, Rupert. And suspicious! He must have been born lookin' over his shoulder. But in my own crude way I can sometimes josh 'em along. "Excuse me for mentionin' it, Rupert," says I, "but there's lots of class to you these days." "Eh?" says he. "You mean----" "The whole effect," says I, "from the gaiters to the new-model lid. Just like you'd strolled out from some Fifth Avenue club and was goin' to 'phone your brokers to buy another block of Bethlehem at the market. Honest!" He pinks up and shakes his head, but I can see I've got the range. "And here Vee and I had it doped out," I goes on, "how you'd be down on the West Coast by this time, investin' your pile in orange groves and corner lots." "No," says Rupert; "I've been here all the while. You see, I--I've grown rather fond of New York."