“It is,” responded a chorus, minus the voice of Miss Carey Vail who was temporarily speechless. “All right, I’m going to blow to supper.” “Not at twelve-fifteen, in this man’s burg,” corrected Mr. Watts. “It’s closed.” “If you can give a wedding party, I guess I can give a supper party,” retorted the gob. “And I’m going to if I have to hold up somebody else’s. Corporal, conduct Airy Fairy Lillian up Mr. Fifth’s well-known avenue while I man the lookout, and be ready to stop on signal.” The signal was given, opposite a house of modest size (for that part of the thoroughfare) with evidences of activity in the front rooms. The gob ran up the steps and was met by a flustered-looking person who made gestures of expostulation, which presently were mollified to gestures of deprecation. “Come one, come all,” invited the gob, returning. “There’ll be a short wait while my friend in the shirt-sleeves--” “Who _is_ this guy, Chaw?” demanded the flit. “He’s the butler.” “Whose butler?” queried Miss McSears. “Don’t make any odds whose. He’s ours at present.” “How did you get him?” questioned Watts. “It’s a long story of my seamy past,” answered the gob. “He’s an ex-con, and I’ve got a strangle-hold on him. So he’s invited us to supper and when the family gets home from the country in the morning he can fix up his own explanation of the ice-box to suit himself and them. I’ve ordered fizz.” “That’s all very well,” observed Miss McSears with firmness. “But I don’t go to midnight suppers in other folks’ houses, with a bunch of strangers--” “Strangers once but lovers now,” stated the flit firmly, “speaking for self _and_ lady friend.” “--and no chaperon,” pursued the spokeswoman of the proprieties, reddening but obstinate. “So you count--” “Silence in the ranks!” ordered Dolly Barrett. “I’m an officer and a widow. Is that enough?” “Plenty for me, and praise to Heaven for the good news,” said the sike, enthusiastically. “I don’t mean the officer part,” he added significantly, “but the other.” Mr. Watts regarded him curiously. “There may be more in these Western universities than a Harvard man would suspect,” he murmured. “And to think,” sighed the sike, “that a few weeks hence I shall be pouring pious platform platitudes into the happy ears of inattentive youth!” “Forward in light foraging order!” commanded the gob. * * * * *