Uncle Peter is a very stout old gentleman. When he squeezes into our little flat the walls act as if they were bow-legged. Uncle Peter always goes through the folding doors sideways and every time he sits down the man in the apartment below us kicks because we move the piano so often. Aunt Martha is Uncle Peter's wife and she weighs more and breathes oftener. When the two of them visit our bird-cage at the same time the janitor has to go out and stand in front of the building with a view to catching it if it falls. When we reached Troolyrooral we found that "Cousin" Elsie Schulz was also a visitor there. "Cousin" Elsie is a sort of privileged character in the family, having lived with Aunt Martha for over twenty years as a sort of housekeeper. They call her "Cousin Elsie" just to make it more difficult. Three or four years ago Elsie married Gustave Bierbauer and quit her job. "Cousin" Elsie believes that conversation was invented for her exclusive use, and the way she can grab a bundle of the English language and break it up is a caution. Language is the same to Elsie as a syphon is to a highball--and that's a whole lot. Two years after their marriage old Gustave stopped living so abruptly that the coroner had to sit on him. The post mortem found out that Gustave had died from a rush of words to his brainpan. The coroner also found, upon further examination, that all of these words had formerly belonged to Elsie, with the exception of a few which were once the property of Gustave's favorite bartender. After Gustave's exit Aunt Martha tried to get Elsie back on her job, but the old Dutch had her eye on Herman Schulz, and finally married him. So now every once in a while Elsie moseys over from Plainfield, N. J., where she lives with Herman, and proceeds to sew a lot of pillow slips and things for Aunt Martha. Yesterday morning, while Peaches and I were at breakfast, Elsie meandered in, bearing in her hand a wedding invitation which Herman had forwarded to her from Plainfield. Being, as I say, a privileged character, she does pretty much as she likes around the bungalooza. Elsie read the invitation: "Mr. und Mrs. Rudolph Ganderkurds request der honor of your presence at der marriage of deir daughter, Verbena, to Galahad Schmalzenberger, at der home of der bride's parents, Plainfield, N. J. March Sixteenth. R. S. V. P." "Vell," said Elsie, "I know der Ganderkurds and I know deir daughter, Verbena, und I know Galahad Schmalzenberger; he's a floorwalker in Bauerhaupt's grocery store, but I doan'd know vot it is dot R. S. V. P. yet!" I gently kicked Peaches on the instep under the table, and said to Elsie, "Well, that _is_ a new one on me. Are you sure it isn't B. & O. or the C. R. R. of N. J.? I've heard of those two railroads in New Jersey, but I never heard of the R. S. V. P." For the first time in her life since she's been able to grab a sentence between her teeth and shake the pronouns out of it Elsie was phazed.