"My niece is writing letters," says Aunty, "and asked not to be disturbed until after five o'clock."
"But in this case," I goes on, "maybe she'd sidetrack the letters if you'd send up word how——"
"Young man," says Aunty, settin' her chin firm, "I think you are quite aware of my attitude. Your persistent attentions to my niece are wholly unwelcome. True, you are no longer a mere office boy; but—well, just who are you?"
"Private sec. of Mutual Funding," says I.
"And a youth known as Torchy?" she adds sarcastic.
"Yes; but see here!" says I. "I've just dug up a——"
"That will do," she breaks in. "We have discussed all this before. And I've no doubt you think me simply a disagreeable, crotchety old person. Has it ever occurred to you, however, that you may have failed to get my point of view? Can you not conceive then that it might be somewhat humiliating to me to know that my maids suppress a smile as they announce—Mr. Torchy? Understand, I am not censuring you for being a nameless waif. No, do not interrupt. I realize that this is something for which you should not be held responsible. But can't you see, young man——"
"If I can't," I cuts in, "I need an eye doctor bad. I'll tell you what I'll do about this name business, though. I'm going to issue a white paper on the subject."
"A—a what?" says Aunty.
"Seein' you ain't much of a listener," says I, "I'll submit the case in writin'. You win the round, though. And if it don't hurt you too much, you might tell Vee I was here. You can use a bichloride of mercury mouth wash afterwards, you know."