He grunts, nods his head, and keeps on writin'. So I strolls back to the reception room.
"All right," says I. "I've fixed it up for you."
"Now, wasn't that sweet in you?" gurgles Marjorie, glancin' sideways at Brother. I couldn't swear it was a wink, either; but it's one of them knowin' fam'ly looks, and she follows it up with a ripply sort of a giggle.
"That's right!" says I. "Have all the fun you want with me; but I'd warn you to ditch the mirth stuff while you're on the carpet. Mr. Ellins don't like it."
"How interesting!" says Marjorie. "Dudley, I hope you understand. We must ditch the mirth stuff."
They swaps another grin at that, and I have a suspicion I'm bein' kidded. Just for that too I decides to stick around while they're gettin' theirs from Old Hickory.
"This way," says I cold and haughty, as I tows 'em into the private office.
Mr. Ellins lets 'em stand there a minute or so without sayin' a word, and then he turns and looks 'em over deliberate. "Humph!" he grunts. "Thought you were younger."
"Yes, Sir," says Marjorie, "we—er—we were at one time."
Old Hickory shoots a quizzin' glance at her; but there ain't the ghost of a smile on her face.