“May I see Mr. Ellins?” says the young chap.

“Cards,” says I.

He produces the pasteboards.

“Oh, yes!” I goes on.  “The wards, eh?  Marjorie Chandler, Dudley Winthrop Chandler.  Well, you’ve picked out a busy day, you know.”

“Oh, have we?” says Marjorie.  “There, Dud!  I was afraid we might.  Perhaps we’d better not call, after all.”

“Good!” says Dudley.  “I didn’t want to, anyway.  We can just send in our cards and leave word that we——­”

“Ah, can it!” says I.  “Mr. Ellins is expectin’ you; only he ain’t a man you can walk in on casual.”

“But really,” puts in Marjorie, “it’s just as well if we don’t see him.”

“Yes, and get me fired for not carryin’ out instructions,” says I.  “My orders are to work you in when there’s a chance.”

“Oh, in that case,” says Marjorie, “perhaps we had better wait.  We don’t wish to cause trouble for anyone, especially such a bright, charming young——­”

“Nix on the josh,” says I.  “And have a seat while I skirmish.”

“Very well, then,” says she, screwin’ her face up cunnin’ and handin’ me one of them crooked smiles.

Say, she pretty near had me goin’ right from the start.  And as I tiptoes into the boss’s room I sees he ain’t doin’ anything more important than signin’ letters.

“They’re here,” says I, “the wards.  Is it all right to run ’em in now?”

He grunts, nods his head, and keeps on writin’.  So I strolls back to the reception room.

“All right,” says I.  “I’ve fixed it up for you.”

“Now, wasn’t that sweet in you?” gurgles Marjorie, glancin’ sideways at Brother.  I couldn’t swear it was a wink, either; but it’s one of them knowin’ fam’ly looks, and she follows it up with a ripply sort of a giggle.

“That’s right!” says I.  “Have all the fun you want with me; but I’d warn you to ditch the mirth stuff while you’re on the carpet.  Mr. Ellins don’t like it.”

“How interesting!” says Marjorie.  “Dudley, I hope you understand.  We must ditch the mirth stuff.”

They swaps another grin at that, and I have a suspicion I’m bein’ kidded.  Just for that too I decides to stick around while they’re gettin’ theirs from Old Hickory.

“This way,” says I cold and haughty, as I tows ’em into the private office.

Mr. Ellins lets ’em stand there a minute or so without sayin’ a word, and then he turns and looks ’em over deliberate.  “Humph!” he grunts.  “Thought you were younger.”

“Yes, Sir,” says Marjorie, “we—­er—­we were at one time.”

Old Hickory shoots a quizzin’ glance at her; but there ain’t the ghost of a smile on her face.

“Huh!” says he.  “I’ve no doubt.  And I presume that in due course you’ll be older.  Having agreed on that, perhaps you will tell me what you’re doing in New York?”

Marjorie starts in to give him the answer to that; but Dudley shakes his head at her and takes the floor himself.  “You see, Sir,” says he real respectful, “Mother’s abroad this winter, and when we were asked to visit friends on Long Island we thought——­”