"Straight goods," says I. "That's Hermes the lobster picker." "That!" says Mildred, shrinkin' back. "Never!" "Huh!" says I. "I told him you wouldn't know him if he didn't keep that face cavity of his closed. He's been doin' that since eight o'clock. But he's the real article, serial number guaranteed by Uncle Jerry." "No, no!" squeals Mildred, covering her face with her hands and backin' away. "There's been some dreadful mistake! That isn't my Hermes. He wasn't at all like that, I tell you, not at all!" Well, we was grouped there in the hall holdin' our foolish debate, when this strange gent strolls by huntin' for some place to light up his cigarette. And just as one of us mentions Hermes again I notices him turn and prick up his ears. Next thing I knew, he's stepped over and is lookin' kind of smilin' and expectant at Mildred. "I beg pardon if I'm wrong," says he; "but isn't this the--er--ah--the young lady whom I had the pleasure of----" But that's enough for Millie, just hearin' his voice. Down comes her hands off her face. "Oh, I knew it! I knew it!" she squeals. "Hermes!" And, say, I don't know how that old Greek looked; but if he had the build and lines of this chap he sure was some ornamental. Anyway, the one we had with us would have been a medal winner in any kind of clothes. Also he had the light wavy hair and the dark blue eyes of Millie's description, with some of the vacation tan left on his cheeks. Marjorie's the next to be heard from. "Why, Mr. Brooke Hartley!" says she, stickin' out her hand. "By Jove!" says he. "Bob Ellins' little sister, eh? Hello, Marjorie!" "Then--then----" gasps Mildred, lookin' from one to the other kind of dazed, "then you aren't a lobster man, after all?" "Nothing so useful as that, I'm afraid," says Hartley. "But why were you there on that island?" she insists. "Well," says he, "hay fever was my chief excuse. I pretend to paint marines, you know, and that's another; but really I suppose I was just being lazy and enjoying the society of Uncle Jerry." "But he isn't your uncle, truly?" says Mildred. "Well," says Hartley, "it's a relationship I share with most of the summer people on that section of the Maine coast." Then a light seemed to break on Mildred. She blushes to her eartips and hides her face in her hands once more. "Oh, oh!" she groans. "And I called you Hermes!" "You did," says he. "And nothing ever tickled my vanity half so much. I've lived on that for the last two months. Please don't take it back!" "I--I won't," says Millie, lettin' loose one of them rovin' glances at him sort of shy and fetchin'. And, say, all tinted up that way, you could hardly blame him for grabbin' both her hands. Not knowin' what might happen next, I proceeds to break in. "In the meantime," says I, "what'll you have done with this perfectly good nephew we've got on our hands back there on the bench?"