These country house joints are so calm and peaceful too! It's a wonder anybody could work up a case of nerves, havin' this for a steady thing. But Edna and Mrs. Pulsifer acted sort of restless and jumpy. She's a tall, thin, hollow-eyed dame, Mrs. Pulsifer is, with gray hair and a smooth, easy voice. Miss Edna must take more after her Pa; for she's filled out better, and while she ain't what you'd call mug-mapped, she has one of these low-bridge noses and a lot of oily, dark red hair that she does in a weird fashion of her own with a side part. Seems shy and bashful too, except when she snuggles up on the lee side of Marjorie and trails off with her. The particular party I was strainin' my eyesight for ain't in evidence, though, and all the hint I gets of her bein' there was hearin' a ripply laugh at the far end of the hallway when she and Marjorie go to a fond clinch. That was some comfort, though,--she was in the house! As I couldn't very well go scoutin' around whistlin' for her to come out, I does the next best thing. After bein' shown my room I drifts downstairs and out on the lawn where I'd be some conspicuous. Course I wa'n't suggestin' anything, but if somebody should happen to see me and judge that I was lonesome, they might wander out that way too. Sure enough somebody did,--Ferdie. "I thought you had to take a nap before dinner," says I, maybe not so cordial. "Bother!" says he. "There's no such thing as that possible with those three girls chattering away in the next room." "Well, they ain't been together for some time, I expect," says I. "It's worse than usual," says Ferdie. "A man in the case, you might know." "Eh?" says I, prickin' up my ears. "Whose man?" "Oh, Edna Pulsifer's absurd ditch digger," says Ferdie. "He's a young engineer, you know, that she's been interested in for a couple of years. Her father put a stop to it once; kept her in Munich for ten months--and that's a perfectly deadly place out of season, you know. But it doesn't seem to have done much good." I grins. Surprisin' how cheerful I could be so long as it was a case of Miss Pulsifer's young man. I pumps the whole tale out of Ferdie,--how this Mr. Bert Gilkey--cute name too--had been writin' her letters all the time from out West, how he'd been seized with a sudden fit, wired on that he must see her once more, and had rushed East. Then how Pa Pulsifer had caught 'em lalligaggin' out by the hedge, had talked real rough to Gilkey, and ordered him never to muddy his front doormat again. "And now," goes on Ferdie, "he sends word to Edna that he means to try it once more, no matter what happens, and everyone is all stirred up." "So that accounts for the nervous motions, eh?" says I. "What does Pa Pulsifer have to say to this defi?" "Goodness!" says Ferdie, shudderin'. "He doesn't know. No one dares tell him a word. If he found out--well, it would be awful!" "Huh!" says I. "One of these fam'ly ringmasters, is he?"