"Ouch!" says I. Vee sure can pinch when she tries. I decides to
report.
"Oh; by the way," says I, as Auntie comes back, "I just ran across Mr.
Creighton."
"Yes?" says Auntie eager.
"He wasn't feelin' quite himself," says I. "Sudden attack of something
or other. He didn't say exactly. But I expect that concert excursion
is scratched."
"Scratched!" says Auntie, lookin' dazed.
"Canceled," says I. "Anyway, he went off in a hurry."
"But--but he-was to have--" And there she stops.
"I know," says I. "Maybe he'll explain later, though."
No wonder she was dizzy from it, and it's quite natural that soon after
she felt one of her bad headaches comin' on. So Vee and Helma got busy
at once. After they'd tucked her away with the ice-bag and the
smellin'-salts, she asked to be let alone; so durin' the next half hour
I had a chance to tell Vee all about Creighton and his career.
"But he did seem so refined!" says Vee.
"Yon got to be," says I, "to deal in fake antiques. His mistake was in
tacklin' something genuine"; and I nods towards a picture of Auntie.
"I don't see how I can ever tell her," says Vee.
"It would be a shame," says I. "Them late romances come so sudden.
Why not just let her press it and put it away? Clyde will never come
back.
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