Aunt Laura is all Benny can show up for a fam'ly, and after you got to know her you couldn't blame him for wantin' to start in on a new deal. She's one of them narrow-eyed old girls that can look through a keyhole without turnin' her head, and can dig up more suspicions in a minute than most folks would in a month. I'll bet if the angel Gabriel should show up and send in his card she'd make him prove who he was by playin' the horn. It was a cinch she didn't mistake me for no angel, when Mr. Robert sends me up there to do an errand for Benny. I wa'n't callin' for no aunts, anyway, but just leavin' a note for Wilson--that's Benny's man--when this sharp-nosed old party comes rubberin' into the front hall. "Marie," says she to the girl, "what boy is this? Where did he come from? Who does he want to see? Don't you dare leave him alone for a minute!" That last touch gets me in the short ribs. "Ah, say," says I, "do I look like a hallrack artist?" "That'll do, young man!" says she. "You may not be as bad as you look; but I have my doubts." "Same to you, ma'am, and many of 'em," says I. "Mercy!" says she. "What impertinence!" "Please, ma'am," says the girl, "Mr. Ellins sent him up, and I----" "Oh!" says the old one. Then she gives me another look. "Boy," says she, "what's your name!" "Torehy," says I. "Ain't it a snug fit?" "Oh!" says she again, and with the soft pedal on. "You're Torchy, are you?" "There ain't any gettin' away from a name like that," says I. "Why," says she, doin' her best to call up a smile, "what a bright young man you are!" "Specially on top," says I, throwin' a wink at Marie. "Ye-es," says Aunt Laura, "I always did think that copper-red shade of hair was real pretty. Come right in, Torchy, while Marie gets you some cake and a cup of tea." "I ain't turnin' the shoulder to any cake," says I; "but you can cut out the tea." Well, say, inside of three minutes from the start I'm planted comf'table in one of the libr'y chairs, eatin' frosted cake with both hands, while Marie's off hustlin' up lemonade and fancy crackers. Course, it was somethin' of a shock, such a quick shift as that. I ain't got a glimmer as to what Aunt Laura's end of the game was; but so long as the home-made pastry holds out I was as good as nailed to the spot. She seems to get a heap of satisfaction watchin' me eat, almost as much as though she was feedin' ground glass to her best enemy. You've seen that kind, that you can stand well enough until they begin to grin at you. Aunt Laura's bluff at smilin' was enough to make a cat get its back up, and you could tell she didn't really mean it, as well as if she'd said, "Now I'm goin' to give you an imitation of somebody that's pleased." And all the time she was dealin' out a line of talk that was as smooth as wet asphalt. Most of it was hot air that she said Benny'd been givin' to her about me, and how sweet Mildred thought I was. That should have been my cue; but I was too busy with the cake.