Then, there was other
items just as interestin'.
But how I was goin' to get it all on record for Auntie I couldn't quite
dope out. Anyway, there was no grand rush; it would keep. So I just
lets things slide for a day or so. Maybe next Wednesday evenin' I'd
have a chance to throw out a hint.
Then, here Tuesday afternoon I gets this trouble call from Vee. She's
out at the corner drug store on the 'phone.
"It's about Auntie," says she. "She is acting so queerly."
"Any more so than usual?" I asks.
"She is going somewhere, and she hasn't told me a word about it," says
Vee. "I found her traveling-bag, all packed, hidden under the
hall-seat."
"The old cut-up!" says I. "What about Creighton--he been around
lately?"
"Every afternoon and evening," says Vee. "He's to take her to a
concert somewhere this evening. I'm not asked."
"Shows his poor taste," says I. "He's due there about eight o'clock,
eh?"
"Seven-thirty," says Vee. "But I don't know what to think, Torchy--the
traveling-bag and--"
"Don't bother a bit, Vee," says I. "Leave it to me. If it's Clyde at
the bottom of this, I've as good as got him spiked to the track. Let
Auntie pack her trunk if she wants to, and don't say a word. Give the
giddy old thing a chance.
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