“Auntie,” began Agatha pityingly, “doesn’t realise that a young woman meets with _far_ more courteous treatment on the East side than she does elsewhere in town.” “I regret to admit,” said Auntie with polite heat, “that to me her sociology, so far, has seemed nothing but--but----” “Say it! Say it!” cried Agatha. “Well, then, madcap gadding.” Agatha rippled out a laugh. “Auntie doesn’t understand. I am working on a thesis for my master’s degree--‘The Influence of Alien Immigration upon the Metropolitan Body Politic.’” Mr. Avery nodded. “My dear Miss Connaughton” (Auntie was Miss Connaughton), “what have _I_ to do with Miss Agatha’s thesis?” “A suitable person,” answered Miss Connaughton, “a gentleman, of course--for no woman, however quick on her feet, could ever keep up with Agatha--must be found who will act as her escort.” “Ah!” said Mr. Avery, smiling. “A gentleman in waiting for the princess!” Agatha’s lip curled. “Oh, no,” returned she ironically; “an attendant for the lunatic.” This Miss Connaughton ignored. “I came to you, Mr. Avery,” she said, “hoping you could recommend someone.” Mr. Avery pursed his lips thoughtfully. “I want an _educated_ mind for this particular duty,” added Miss Connaughton, with meaning. Agatha rippled another laugh. “Auntie wants a nice, little tattletale to listen and report--a sort of afternoon-tea Pinkerton.” “I still insist,” declared Miss Connaughton. Agatha’s wrath blazed up anew. “Very well,” she said decisively. “If I must have someone tagging at my heels night and day, _night_ and day” (jab, jab), “the only escort I shall accept will be deaf and dumb.” Miss Connaughton threw up her hands. So did Mr. Avery: he clapped one over his mouth. “_Deaf and dumb!_” gasped Miss Connaughton weakly. “Yes,” said Agatha triumphantly. “On that condition, I’ll agree.” Mr. Avery, now unable wholly to contain himself, indulged in a broad grin. “The idea isn’t half bad,” he said. “Thank you,” from Agatha. Miss Connaughton returned to the contest. “But the newspapers would surely get it!” she wailed, suddenly aware of the dramatics of the situation. Agatha put out one small, gloved hand toward her kinswoman. “My aunt,” said she, “lives in daily horror of having the proud name of Connaughton dragged into the vulgar press. Well, I can just see the headlines: ‘Miss Connaughton’s Ward Has Softening of the Brain!’ Oh, it will be the limit!” “_Agatha!_” groaned Miss Connaughton. Mr. Avery interrupted hastily. “The suggestion as to a deaf-and-dumb attendant,” he began, coughing professionally, “is I think, an excellent one. Such a person would fulfil _your_ requirements, madam.” This to Miss Connaughton, who had sunk back, chin on breast, in what was almost a state of collapse. Then, to Agatha, “May I ask if there are other specifications?”