"Perhaps they'll not keep me in the chorus," says she. "It's the back door, I know, but it was the only way I could get in. And I'm going to work for something better. You'll see." Yep, I saw. Miss Joyce resigned at the end of the week, and it wasn't ten days before I gets a little note from her saying how she'd been picked out to do a specialty dance and duet with Ronald Breen. Mr. Breen had done the picking himself. And she did hope I would look in some night when the company opened on Broadway. "I expect we'll have to go; eh, Vee?" says I when I gets home. "Surely," says Vee. Well, maybe you've noticed what a hit this "Tut! Tut!" thing has been making. It's about the zippiest, peppiest girl show in town, and that's saying a lot. It's the kind of stuff that makes the tired business man get bright in the eyes and forget how near the sixteenth of January is. I thought first off we'd have to put off seeing it until after Christmas, for when I finally got to the box office there was nothing doing in orchestra seats. Sold out five weeks in advance. But by luck I happens to run across Lester Biggs in the lobby and for five a throw he fixes me up with two places in G, middle row. "It's a big winner," says he. "Seen it yourself?" I asks. "Not yet," says he. "Think I can pull it off tonight, though." "Good!" says I. "I'll be looking for you out front after the first act." And, say, when this party who's listed on the program as Jean Jolly comes boundin' in with Ronald Breen I'll admit she had me sittin' up with my ears tinted pink. No use goin' into details about her costume. It's hardly worth while--a little white satin here and there and a touch of black tulle. "Well!" gasps Vee. "Is that your little Miss Joyce?" "I can hardly believe it," says I. "I should hope not," says Vee. "But she is cute, isn't she? And see that kick! Oh-h-h-h!" I was still red in the face, I expect, when I trails out at the end of the act and discovers Lester leanin' against the lobby wall. "Say, Torchy," says he husky, "did--did you see her?" "Miss Joyce?" says I. "Sure. Some pippin in the act, isn't she? Didn't she send you word she was goin' to be in this with Ronald Breen?" "Me?" says he. "No." "That's funny," says I. "She told me weeks ago. I hear she's pulling down an even hundred and fifty a week. By next season she'll be starrin'." "And to think," moans out Lester, "that I passed her up only a few months ago!" "Yes," says I, "considerin' your chronic ambition, that was once when you were out of luck. And the worst of it is that maybe she was only usin' you to practice on all along. Eh?" Perhaps it wasn't a consolin' thought to leave with Lester, but somehow I couldn't help grinnin' as I tossed it over. And me, I'm doping out no more advice to young ladies from Saskatoun or elsewhere. I'm off that side-line permanent. CHAPTER XVI TORCHY TACKLES A MYSTERY