“Of whom—Havener?” asked Merry,

“No, Folansbee.”

“What about him?”

“He’s skipped.”

“Skipped?”

“Sure thing. Run away.”

“Impossible!”

“It’s a straight fact,” declared the little soubrette.

“There’s no doubt of it,” corroborated Havener.

“Waal, may I be tickled to death by grasshoppers!” ejaculated Gallup.