"Well," says I, "what's the joke? Shoot it!"
At that into the room bounces a couple of girls, somewhere around ten and twelve, I should judge; tall, long-legged kids, but cute lookin', and genuine live wires, from their toes up. They're fairly wigglin' with some kind of excitement.
"We know who you are!" singsongs one, pointin' the accusin' finger.
"You're Torchy!" says the other.
"Then I'm discovered," says I. "How'd you dope it out?"
"By your hair!" comes in chorus, and then they goes to a panicky clinch and giggles down each other's necks.
"Hey, cut out the comic relief," says I, "and give me a turn. Which one of you is Peggy?"
"Why, who told you that?" demands the one with the red ribbon.
"Oh, I'm some guesser myself," says I. "It's you."
"Pooh! I bet it was Uncle Ferdinand," says she.