“I say, Mary Jane is a man.” Billy was enjoying herself hugely.
“A ma-an!”
“Yes; a great big man with a brown beard. He's waiting now with John and I must go.”
“But, Billy, I don't understand,” chattered an agitated voice over the line. “He—he called himself 'Mary Jane.' He hasn't any business to be a big man with a brown beard! What shall we do? We don't want a big man with a brown beard—here!”
Billy laughed roguishly.
“I don't know. You asked him! How he will like that little blue room—Aunt Hannah!” Billy's voice turned suddenly tragic. “For pity's sake take out those curling tongs and hairpins, and the work-basket. I'd never hear the last of it if he saw those, I know. He's just that kind!”
A half stifled groan came over the wire.
“Billy, he can't stay here.”
Billy laughed again.
“No, no, dear; he won't, I know. He says he's going to a hotel. But I had to bring him home to dinner; there was no other way, under the circumstances. He won't stay. Don't you worry. But good-by. I must go. Remember those curling tongs!” And the receiver clicked sharply against the hook.