"Thanks. I seldom drink a cocktail, and one is always my limit,"
Shirley replied smilingly.

"Oh, well," the Colonel retorted agreeably, "we'll make it a three-
cornered festival. Poundstone, smoke up."

They "smoked up," and Poundstone prayed to his rather nebulous gods
that Mrs. P. would not discuss automobiles during the dinner.

Alas! The Colonel's cocktails were not unduly fortified, but for all
that, the two which Mrs. Poundstone had assimilated contained just
sufficient "kick" to loosen the lady's tongue without thickening it.
Consequently, about the time the piece de resistance made its
appearance, she threw caution to the winds and adverted to the
subject closest to her heart.

"I was telling Henry as we came up the walk how greatly I envied you
that beautiful sedan, Miss Sumner," she gushed. "Isn't it a perfectly
stunning car?"

Poundstone made one futile attempt to head her off. "And I was
telling Mrs. Poundstone," he struck in with a pathetic attempt to
appear humorous and condescending, "that a little jitney was our
gait, and that she might as well abandon her passionate yearning for
a closed car. Angelina, my dear, something tells me I'm going to
enjoy this dinner a whole lot more if you'll just make up your mind
to be real nice and resign yourself to the inevitable."

"Never, my dear, never." She shook a coy finger at him. "You dear old
tightie," she cooed, "you don't realize what a closed car means to a