By that time, though, I'd got a better view myself. And--say, hadn't I seen them ruddy cheeks and that gray hair and them droopy eyes before? Why, sure! It's what's-his-name, the old guy who blew into the Corrugated awhile ago, my absentee boss--Ballard! Maybe I'd have told Zenobia all about him if there'd been time; but there wa'n't. Another flash of the lights, and we was watchin' the last act, where this gutter-bred Pygmalion sprouts a soul. And when it's all over of course we're swept out with the ebb tide, make a scramble for our taxi, and are off for home. Then as we gets to the door I has the sudden hunch about eats. "There's a joint around on Sixth-ave.," says I, lettin' Aunt Zenobia in, "where they sell hot dog sandwiches with sauerkraut trimmin's. I believe I could just do with one about now." "What an atrocious suggestion at this hour of the night!" says she. "Torchy, don't you dare bring one of those abominations into the house--unless you have enough to divide with me. About four, I should say." "With mustard?" says I. "Heaps!" says she. Three minutes later I'm hurryin' back with both hands full, when I notices another taxi standin' out front. Then who should step out but this Ballard party, in a silk hat and a swell fur-lined overcoat. "Young man," says he, "haven't I seen you somewhere before?" "Uh-huh," says I. "I'm your private sec." "Wha-a-at?" says he. "My--oh, yes! I remember. I saw you at the Corrugated." "And then again at the show to-night," says I. "To be sure," says he. "With a lady, eh?" I nods. "Lives here, doesn't she?" asks Ballard. "Right again," says I. "Goin' to call?" "Why," says he, "the fact is, young man, I--er--see here, it's Zenobia Hadley, isn't it?" "Preble," says I. "Mrs. Zenobia Preble." "Hang the Preble part!" says he. "He's dead years ago. What I want to know is, who else lives here?" "Only her and Sister Martha and me," says I. "Martha, eh?" says he. "Still alive, is she? Well, well! And Zenobia now, is she--er--a good deal like her sister?" "About as much as Z is like M," says I. "She's a live one, Aunt Zenobia is, if that's what you're gettin' at." "Thank you," says he. "That is it exactly. And I am glad to hear it. She used to be, as you put it, rather a live one; but I didn't quite know how----" "Kyrle Ballard, is that you?" comes floatin' out from the front door. "If it is, and you wish to know anything more about Zenobia Hadley, I should advise you to come to headquarters. Torchy, bring in those sandwiches--and Mr. Ballard, if he cares to follow." "There!" says I to Ballard. "You've got a sample. That's Zenobia. Are you comin' or goin'?" Foolish question! He's leadin' the way up the steps. "Zenobia," says he, holdin' out both hands, "I humbly apologize for following you in this impulsive fashion. I saw you at the theater, and----" "If you hadn't done something of the kind," says she, "I shouldn't have been at all sure it was really you. You've changed so much!"