“You will, will you?” Wilbur stormed at her.  Yet he was pleased, too, for Mouser’s attempt was testimony to the bird’s merit.  “She thought it was real,” he said, proudly.

“But how did you come to have your clothes——­” began Winona sweetly once more, and again the twin was saved from shuffling answers.

The dog, Frank, sniffing up timidly at Mouser on the porch rail, displeased her.  From her perch she leaned down to curse him hissingly, with arched back and swollen tail, a potent forearm with drawn claws curving forward in menace.

“You will, will you?” demanded Wilbur again, freeing his legs from the leash in which the dismayed dog had entwined them.

Frank now fell on his back with limp paws in air and simpered girlishly up at his envenomed critic on the railing.

“We got to keep that old cat out the way.  He eats ’em up—­that’s all he does, eats ’em!  It’s a good thing I was here to make him mind me.”

“But how did you come to have your clothes——­” resumed Winona.

This time it was Dave Cowan who thwarted her with a blithe hail from the gate.  Winona gave it up.  Merle had been striving to tell her what she wished to know.  Later she would let him.

* * * * *

Dave swaggered up the walk, a gay and gallant figure in his blue cutaway coat, his waistcoat of most legible plaid, fit ground for the watch chain of heavy golden links.  He wore a derby hat and a fuming calabash pipe, removing both for a courtly bow to the ladies.  His yellow hair had been plastered low on his brow, to be swept back each side of the part in a gracious curve; his thick yellow moustache curled jauntily upward, to show white teeth as he smiled.  At first glance he was smartly apparelled, but below the waist Dave always diminished rapidly in elegance.  His trousers were of another pattern from the coat, not too accurate of fit, and could have been pressed to advantage, while the once superb yellow shoes were tarnished and sadly worn.  The man was richly and variously scented.  There were the basic and permanent aromas of printer’s ink and pipe tobacco; above these like a mist were the rare unguents lately applied by Don Paley, the barber, and a spicy odour of strong drink.  As was not unusual on a Saturday night, Dave would have passed some relaxing moments at the liquor saloon of Herman Vielhaber.

“I hope I see you well, duchess!”

This was for Mrs. Penniman, and caused her to bridle as she fancied a saluted duchess might.  It was the humour of Dave to suppose this lady a peeress of the old regime, one who had led far too gay a life and, come now to a dishonoured old age, was yet cynical and unrepentant.  Winona also he affected to believe an ornament of the old noblesse, a creature of maddening beauty, but without heart, so that despairing suitors slew themselves for her.  His debased fancy would at times further have it that Judge Penniman was Louis