“I declare,” said Clover, “what a thing a backer is to be sure. I feel positive that Aunt Mary will go through with it now. I had my doubts before, but never now. Six to five on Aunt Mary for the Three-year-old Stakes.” “The best way is to hit a happy medium,” said Mitchell thoughtfully, scratching a match for the lighting of his new-rolled cigarette. “I think the wisest thing would be for us just to take Aunt Mary and sally forth and then keep it up until she must be put to bed. What say?” “Well,” said Jack, reflectively, “I don’t suppose that taking it that way, it would really be any worse than the other nights—” “Worse!” cried Clover. “Hear him!—slandering those brilliant occasions, everyone of which is a jewel in the crown of Aunt Mary’s bonnet.” “We’ll begin by dining out,” said Burnett. “I’ll give the dinner. One of the souvenir kind of affairs. A white mouse for every man and a canary bird for the lady. We’ll have a private room and speeches and I’ll get megaphones so we can make her hear without bustin’.” “My dear boy,” said Mitchell, “where is this private room to be in which the party can converse through megaphones? I had two deaf uncles once who played cribbage with megaphones, but they were influential and the rest of the family were poor. Circumstances alter cases. I ask again where you can get a private dining-room for the use of five people and four megaphones?” “I’ll see,” said Burnett; “I wish,” he added irritably, “that you’d wait until I finished before beginning to smash in like that, you knock everything out of my head.” “It’ll do you good to have a little something knocked out of you,” said Mitchell gently. “It may enlarge your premises, give you a spare room somewhere, so to speak. I should think that you’d need some spare room somewhere after such a breakfast.” “I’ll tell you what I think;” said Clover. “I think it’s a great scheme. It’s a sort of pull-in-and-out, field-glass species of idea. We can develop it or we can shut it off; in other words, we can parade Aunt Mary or bring her home just when we darn please.” “That’s what I said,” said Burnett. “Begin with my dinner, white mice and all, and when all is going just let it slide until it seems about time to slide off.” “Yes,” said Mitchell dryly, “it’s always a good plan to slide on until you slide off. It would be so easy to reverse the game.” “And then, too,—” began Burnett. “Excuse me,” said a voice at the door,—a woman’s voice this time. It was Janice, very pretty in her black dress and white decorations, hands in pockets, smile on lips. “What’s up now?” the last speaker interrupted himself to ask, “Aunt Mary?” “No, she’s not up,” said the maid; “but she’s awake and wants to know about the picnic.” “There, what did I say!” cried Burnett; “isn’t she a hero? I tell you Aunt Mary’d fight in the last ditch—she’d never surrender! She’s one of those dead-at-the-gun chaps. I’m proud to think we have known the companionship of joint yachting results.”