Course, I didn't keep any close track of Mr. Cutler for the next few days. There was no special reason why I should. I supposed he was busy makin' up his quartette for that Southern cruise. So about a week later I'm mildly surprised to hear that he's still stayin' on over at Sister Mabel's. I didn't really suspicion anything until one afternoon, along in the middle of January, when as I steps off the 5:10 I gets a glimpse of Babe's blue racer waitin' at the crossing gates. And snuggled down under the fur robe beside him, with her cheeks pinked up by the crisp air and her brown eyes sparklin', is Miss Lucy Snell. "Huh!" thinks I. "Still goin' on, eh? Or has Billy's little beak had another leaky spell?" Couldn't have been many days after that before I comes home to find Vee all excited over some news she'd heard from Mrs. Robert Ellins. "What do you think, Torchy!" says she. "That bachelor friend of Mr. Robert, a Mr. Cutler, was married last night." "Eh!" says I. "Babe?" "Yes," says Vee. "And to a village girl, daughter of T. Snell, the plumber. And his married sister is perfectly wild about it. Isn't it dreadful?" "Oh, I don't know," says I. "Might turn out all right." "But--but she's a poor little school-teacher," protests Vee, "and Mr. Cutler is--is----" "A rich sport," I puts in, "who's always had what he wanted. And I expect he thought he wanted Miss Snell. Looks so, don't it?" I understand that Sister Mabel threw seven kinds of fits, and that the country club set was all worked up over the affair, specially one of the young ladies that had played in mixed foursomes with Babe and probably had the net out for him. But he didn't come back to apologize or anything like that. And the next we heard was that the happy pair had started for Florida on their honeymoon. Well, that seemed to finish the incident. Mr. Robert hunches his shoulders and allows that Babe is old enough to manage his own affairs. Sister Mabel calmed down, and the disappointed young ladies crossed Babe off the last-hope list. Besides, a perfectly good scandal broke out in the bridge playing and dancing set, and Babe Cutler's rapid little romance was forgotten. Five or six Sundays came and went, with Mondays following regular. And then here the other afternoon, as I'm camped down next to the car window on my way home, who should tap me on the shoulder but the same old Babe. That is, unless you looked close. For there's a worried, puzzled look in his wide set eyes and he don't spring the usual hail. "Hello!" says I. "Ain't lost your baggage checks, have you?" "It's worse than that," says he. "I--I've lost--Lucy." "Wha-a-t!" says I, gaspy. "You don't mean she--she's----" "No," says Babe. "She's just quit me and gone home." "But--but why?" I blurted out. "Lord knows," groans Babe. "That's what I want to find out."