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“I’ll never get this girl,” and a moment later: “Am I out of my mind?” He said: “I can try, Miss Dawson.”
    The cat Martin, which lived for occasions like these, put his head around Theodore’s legs, crept through the doorway, and trotted down the front steps. The chow came through the car window; Martin leapt into the next area, Gamadge after him, the chow after Gamadge, and Miss Vauregard after the chow. She grasped Sun by the tail, while Martin eluded Gamadge, and dashed into the street. Miss Dawson caught him by falling on him.
    â€œI do hope to goodness you haven’t scratched your boots.” Gamadge assisted her to her feet. Martin, having instantly relaxed in her arms, lay back against her shoulder with closed eyes and a pleased expression. Miss Vauregard bundled the chow into the back of the car.
    â€œAny damage?”
    â€œNot a bit,” said Miss Dawson.
    â€œLet me take that wretched animal.”
    â€œOh, he’s so sweet. Don’t disturb him yet.”
    â€œHe’ll take a piece out of you, in a minute,” said Miss Vauregard, getting into the sedan.
    â€œYou actually like the creatures?” asked Gamadge.
    â€œI only wish I had one. I even have to keep Sun at a dog’s boardinghouse.”
    â€œYou know very well, dear,” said Miss Vauregard, through the car window, “that your Aunt Angela cannot be disturbed by dogs and cats. After Ching clawed the curtain…”
    Miss Dawson allowed Theodore to take Martin away from her, and into the house. She said, “He’s lovely.”
    â€œHe hopes to see you again.” Gamadge opened the car door for her, and went around to the other side.
    Miss Dawson looked at him with the detached benignity that he found so remarkable.
    â€œI’d love to see him again.”
    â€œHow about coming to tea with him?” He got in, and she started the car. “Bring anybody, or nobody. If it must be somebody, I should prefer Miss Vauregard.”
    â€œWhen can I come?”
    â€œTomorrow.”
    â€œMarvelous.”
    Miss Vauregard hung on to the chow’s collar while he leaned out of his window, getting the breeze in his hair. Catching Gamadge’s eye, she held it with a snapping black one, and shook her head.
    â€œNo good?” asked Gamadge, over the back of his seat.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œYou giving me orders?”
    â€œInformation.”
    â€œWhat’s all this?” inquired Miss Dawson, turning the corner into Park Avenue, and stopping for a light.
    â€œWe got confidential over our mint juleps,” said Miss Vauregard.
    â€œDrinking at a business conference? I never heard of such a thing.”
    â€œYour aunt and I don’t have to keep our heads clear when we have a business conference. We’re affinities.”
    â€œOnly,” said Miss Vauregard, “Mr. Gamadge doesn’t seem to realize quite how we feel about getting into the papers.”
    â€œI merely think that there are worse things than getting into the papers.”
    â€œSuch as losing a million dollars,” said Clara demurely.
    â€œThere are worse things than losing a million dollars.”
    â€œNot many, I should think.” Miss Vauregard’s tone was dry.
    â€œThe Barclays say you don’t like to be in the papers.” Clara’s glance at him was still more demure.
    â€œThey’ve been telling on me, have they?”
    â€œFred and Alma have. Fred told me how scared he was because he thought you were falling in love with Alma.”
    â€œWhen I fall in love with anybody, nobody will have to think about it; they’ll know it, and so will the girl.”
    â€œAlma said it was silly—you’d only been acquainted for a few hours.”
    â€œI shouldn’t need a few hours. A few minutes would do.” Gamadge, watching the profile beside him, decided to be grateful for the mint julep; it seemed to have inspired his