“Tell us the name of this awful young person,” begged Jimmy.
“Oh no, young man! When you get to be as old as I am and as experienced you will realize that one mustn’t tell names and tales too.”
At this juncture Aunt Maria poked her head in the dining room door and announced:
“Miss Celeste, Major Simpson’s phone air a ringin’ lak sompen wa’ on fiah. I’d go up an’ answer it myse’f if it would do any good—but when folks wants Major Simpson they wants him an’ I reckon they couldn’t use no substerchute.”
“Ah, no doubt a development!” said the Major as he hurried to his room to quiet the persistent ringing of the telephone bell.
He returned before the next course of the table d’hote was served. His genial pink face was beaming and like Kilmansegg, father of the immortal one of the golden leg:
“Seem’d washing his hands with invisible soap
In imperceptible water.”
“Just as I said—a development,” he declared. “It was Mr. Theodore Burnett on the telephone. He informs me that the articles, purloined from his establishment this forenoon, have been returned.”
“Oh, how thrilling! Did he say by whom?” asked the coy one.