For once Miss Gertrude did not retort; her eyes, full of dreams, were gazing past the doorway which had so recently framed the modest figure of Mr. Chase.
Promptly at six Mr. Barker appeared for his appointment. He bespoke the last word and epilogue in sartorial perfection—his suit was a trifle too brown and a trifle too creased and his carnation a bit too large, but he radiated good cheer and perfume.
Miss Ethyl nudged Miss Gertrude excitedly.
"Pipe the rig, Gert; he makes you look like a hole in a doughnut."
He entered, suave as oil.
"Well, sis, ready?"
"Oh, Mr. Barker, you're all dressed up—and look at me. I—"
"Ah-h-h, how do you like it? Some class, eh? Guess your Uncle Fuller ain't some hit—brand-new gear from tonneau to rear wheels."
Mr. Barker circumvolved on one heel, holding his coat-tails apart.
"I blew me right fer this outfit; but it's woith the money, sis."