"I know," says I. "And a livelier widow never hailed from Peachtree street, Atlanta; which is sayin' a lot. Who sends in this bulletin about Sonny?"
"Purdy-Pell," says Sadie, "and he doesn't know what to do."
"Never does," says I.
Sadie flickers a grin. "It seems Robin came two days ago, and has hardly been seen about the house since. Besides, Purdy-Pell could do nothing with him when he was here before, you remember."
"Awful state of things, ain't it?" says I. "The youngster's all of nineteen, ain't he?"
"He's nearly twenty-one," says Sadie. "And Mrs. Hollister's such a dear!"
"All of which leads up to what?" says I, tearin' my eyes from the sportin' page reluctant.
"Why," says Sadie, cuddlin' up on the chair arm, "Purdy-Pell suggests that, as Robin appeared to take such a fancy to you, perhaps you wouldn't mind——"
"Say," I breaks in, "he's a perfectly punk suggester! I'd mind a lot!"
Course that opened the debate, and while I begins by statin' flat-footed that Robin could come or go for all I cared, it ends in the usual compromise. I agrees to take the eight-forty-five into town and skirmish for Sonny. He'd be almost sure to show up at Purdy-Pell's to-night, Sadie says, and if I was on hand I might induce him to quit wreckin' the city and be good.