"No wonder she's grown waspy, living a life like that," says Vee.
"Ain't there any way of our duckin' this continuous stingfest, though?"
says I.
"There is something I'd like to try," says Vee, "if you'll promise to
help."
"If it's a plan to put anything over on Miss Burr," says I, "you can
count on me."
"Suppose it sounds silly?" says Vee.
"Comin' from you," says I, "it couldn't."
"Blarney!" says Vee. "But you've said you'd help, so listen; we'll give
a Myra day."
"A which?" says I.
"Come here while I whisper," says she.
I expect that's why it don't sound more'n half nutty, too, delivered that
way. For with Vee's chin on my shoulder, and some of that silky
straw-colored hair brushin' my face, and a slim, smooth arm hooked chummy
through one of mine--well, say; she could make a tabulated bank statement
listen like one of Grantland Rice's baseball lyrics. Do I fall for her
proposition? It's almost a jump.
"All right," says I. "Not that I can figure how it's goin' to work out,
but if that's your idea of throwin' the switch on her, I'm right behind
you. Just give me the proper cues, that's all."
"Wait until I hear from my telegram," says Vee. "I'll let you know."
I didn't get the word until Tuesday afternoon, when she 'phones down.
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