"That?" says she. "Oh, some concert singer, I think. Let's see. Yes—Miss Elsa Hampton. She's to give a benefit song recital in the Plutoria pink room for the Belgian war orphans, tickets two dollars. Want to go?" And Vee flips the folder into my lap.
Gettin' the picture right side to, I lets out a whistle. No mistakin' that. "Sure I want to go," says I.
"Why?" says Vee.
"Well, for one thing," says I, "she has china blue eyes that widen out when they look at you, and a queer, quirky little smile that——"
"How thrilling!" says Vee. "You must know her very well."
"Almost that," says I. "Anyway, I know someone that did know her very well—once."
"Oh!" says Vee, forgettin' all about the yarn windin' and hitchin' her chair up close. "That does sound interesting. I hope it isn't a deep secret."
"If it wa'n't," says I, "what would be the fun in tellin' it to you?"
"Goody!" says Vee. "Who is the poor man who knew her once but doesn't any more?"
"Whisper!" says I. "It's Mr. Bob Ellins!"