Intuition is a strange thing that fortunately returns to lovers, drunkards and children in their hour of need. From the first touch of her hand and the first look into her face Skippy knew that a crisis had arrived. Mr. Tuptale was so placidly and professionally at ease and Miss Tupper so nervously and unsibilantly conversational that the conversation bubbled on like a kettle steaming in a distant room. He nodded once or twice, Mr. Tuptale fingered a magazine while Jennie ran on softening the s's.
"Something awful is going to happen," thought Skippy, staring at the biblical engravings on the wall. "They're going to try to make me give back that pin."
Miss Tupper stood up. Skippy stood up. Mr. Tuptale stood up.
"Jack, I have taken a therious, a vewy therious thep," said Miss Tupper flushing. "I do want to help you tho much but, but I have thought, that ith, I am afwaid I know tho little how. You may think it dweadful of me—"
She paused and Skippy frozen to the marrow said icily,
"Yes, what is it?"
"I have gone to Mr. Tuptale—to Perthy for advithe. I, I had to."
"Excuse me," said Skippy loftily. "Is Mr. Tuptale, are you,—is he?"
"Well, yeth," said Jennie, blushing, while a smile spread enormously over Mr. Tuptale's features.
"Oh!"