And it looks like he'll soon come to be called young Torchy himself. Uh-huh. For a while there Vee was sure his first crop of hair, which was wheat colored like hers, was goin' to be the color scheme of his permanent thatch. But when the second growth begun to show up red she had to revise her forecast. Now there's no doubt of his achievin' a pink-plus set of wavy locks that'll make a fresh-painted fire hydrant look faded. They're gettin' brighter and brighter and I expect in time they'll show the same new copper kettle tints that mine do. "I don't care," says Vee "I rather like it." "That's the brave talk, Vee!" says I. "It may be all he'll inherit from me, but it ain't so worse at that. With that hair in evidence there won't be much danger of his being lost in a crowd. Folks will remember him after one good look. Besides, it's always sort of cheerin' on a rainy day. He'll be able to brighten up the corner where he is without any dope from Billy Sunday. Course, he'll be joshed a lot about it, but that'll mean he'll either have to be a good scrapper or develop an easy-grin disposition, so he wins both ways." The only really disappointed member of the fam'ly is Vee's Auntie. Last time she was out here she notices the change in 'Ikky-boy's curls and sighs over it. "I had hoped," says she, "that the little fellow's hair would be--well, of a different shade." "Sort of a limousine body-black, eh?" says I. "Funny it ain't, too." "But he will be so--so conspicuous," she goes on. "There are advantages," says I, "in carryin' your own spotlight with you. Now take me." But Auntie only sniffs and changes the subject. She's a grand old girl, though. A little hard to please, I'll admit. I've been at it quite some time, but it's only now and then I can do anything that seems to strike her just right. Mostly she disapproves of me, and she's the kind that ain't a bit backward about lettin' you know. Her remarks here the other day when she arrives to help celebrate Master Richard's second birthday will give you an idea. You see, she happens to be in the living room when me and 'Ikky-boy has our reg'lar afternoon reunion. Might be we went at it a little stronger and rougher than usual, on account of the youngster's havin' been held quiet in her lap for a half hour or so. "Hi, hi, ol' Torchy, Torchy!" he shouts, grippin' both hands into my hair gleeful. "Burny burn!" says I makin' a hissin' noise. "Yah, yah! 'Ikky-boy wanna ride hossy," says he. "And me with my trousers just pressed!" says I. "Say, where do you get that stuff?" "I must say," comes in Auntie, "that I don't consider that the proper way to talk to a child." "Oh, he don't mind," says I. "But he is so apt to learn such expressions and use them himself," says she. "Yes, he picks up a lot," says I. "He's clever that way. Aren't you, you young tarrier?" "Whe-e-e!" says 'Ikky-boy, slidin' off my knee to make a dive at Buddy and roll him on the floor.