But you can't squelch Hamilton that way. "Me?" says he. "Oh, potting big game is my fad. I got three caribou last fall, you know, and this spring I'm--say, Sukey,--I beg your pardon, Hiscock,--but you ought to come along with us. Do you good. Put some meat on your bones. We're going 'way up into Montana after black bear and silver-tips. I'd like to see you facing a nine-hundred-pound she bear with----" "Would you?" cuts in Blair. "You know very well I'd be frightened half to death." "Oh, well," says Nutt, "we'd stack you up against a cinnamon cub." "Any kind of bear I should be afraid of," says Sukey. "Not really!" says Hamilton. "Why, say----" "Please!" protests Blair. "I don't care to talk about such creatures. I'm afraid of them even when I see them caged. I've an instinctive dread of all big beasts. Smile, if you like. But all truly civilized persons feel the same. I'm not a cave man, you know. Besides, I prefer telling the truth about such things to making believe I'm not afraid, as a lot of would-be mighty hunters do." "Not meaning me, I hope?" asks Nutt. "If you're innocent, don't dodge," says Blair. "And I--I think I'll not wait for Ferdinand any longer. Tell him I was here, will you?" And with a nod to me he does a snappy exit. "A constant joy, Sukey is," remarks Hamilton. "Why, when we were up in the Adirondacks that summer, we used to----" What they used to do to Sukey I'll never know; for just then Mr. Robert sails in, and Nutt breaks off the account. He'd spieled along for half an hour in his usual vein when Mr. Robert flags him long enough to call me over. "By the way, Torchy," says Mr. Robert, "before I forget it----" and he hands me one of Marjorie's cards with a date and "Music" written in the southwest corner. I gazes at it puzzled. "I strongly suspect," he goes on, "that a certain young lady may be among those present." "Oh!" says I, pinkin' up some, I expect. "Much obliged. In that case I'm strong for music. Some swell piano performer, eh?" "A young violinist," says Mr. Robert, "a friend of Ferdie's, I believe, who----" "Bet a million it's Sukey!" breaks in Nutt. "Blair Hiscock, isn't it!" "That is his name," admits Mr. Robert. "But this is to be nothing formal, you know: only Marjorie is bringing him down to the house, and has asked in a few people." "By George!" says Nutt, slappin' his knee enthusiastic. "Couldn't you get me in on that affair, Bob?" "Why--er--I might," says Mr. Robert. "I didn't know, though, that you were passionately fond of violin music. It's to be rather a classical programme, and----" "Classic be blowed!" says Nutt. "What I want is a fair whack at Sukey. Seen him, haven't you?" Mr. Robert shakes his head.