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Show J Two Guesses on Martha wants any of the natives to do a day's work he has to beg- 'em real humble. "Hero you are," says T, as we swings into the main road. "Here's .the Hoi-low Hoi-low on a busy Saturday afternoon." In front of one house a t ravelin' meat cart had stopped and a trade for two pounds of round steak with a soup bone throWn in was under way. Acrosa the way two tow-headed boys was pickin' up windfalls from under a Baldwin Bald-win apple tree. Sunnln' himself in front of the next pato was a fat coon hound. Off In a field a man was load in cornstalks corn-stalks on a wagon. Ou the side piazzas of most of the houses was displayed heaps of pumpkins and squash. "Hew restful it would be," says Cousin Mnrtha', "to settle down here for the winter. Could one rent a house, I wonder?" won-der?" "I know of at least one that has been shut up, fully furnished, for more than a year." says Pinckney. "Mr. Ladd can tell us." "Then let us see Mr. Ladd at once," says she. For a wonder there were two teams and a fliwef parked in front of LadU's store. And inside we finds ciuite a mob of people, at least six or eight. They was all grouped around the stove in the back, talking excited as we came in, but the minute they sees strangers they quits. "I say, Ladd," demands Pinckney, "what's up? Not another cow tragedy. I hope?" Hi. Ladd hunches his shoulders. "That's what's up," says he, pointin' to the wreck of an iron safe in the corner. "Gang of yeggs blowed it last night. Got away with near $GG in cash and a lot of Liberty bonds. Makes twice in three years they've blowed a safe on me." Well, we sympathized with Hi. the best we could, at the same time tryin to keep Cousin Martha from hearin' the Had sense enough to go up into the attic, though." "But why did he do it?" asks Pinckney. Pinck-ney. HI shakes his head. "Some say he missed the old lady and couldn't git used to Uvin' alone," says he. "and others say he got to mixin' hard cider and elderberry elder-berry win too frequent. I dunno. But there's the house, empty." "I don't think I should care for that house." says Cousin Martha, decided. We passed a low, squatty one ou the way up. It waq painted white with green blinds and looked rather attractive. But I suppose that is occupied.' "The Sam Tilley place. I expect." says Hi. "Yes, you might rent that, like as not. Mame Tilley's taken the two youngsters young-sters and gone home to her father, I understand." un-derstand." "But whoro is Sam?" asks Pinckney. "That's kind of a myst'ry," says Hi. "One of the Plunkitt girls knows all about it, I guess. Anyways, she's miss-in', miss-in', too. Her and Sam had been pretty thick. That's what started the little muss we had here Monday night, when Mame chased Jen Plunkitt down the road with a carvin' knife, both of 'em yellin' like mad. Course, we don't know, but it looks like Sam and Jen had eloped, as you might say." ! "I think that is quite enough." says Cousin Martha. "As I understand it, all that has happened in your quiet little village so far this week has been a burglary, bur-glary, a suicide and a domestic scandal?" "That's about all," says Hi reflective, "but I expect some of the old women could tell you of more that's etc win", ready to bile over." "Thank you," says Martha, "but I am not interested. I have changed my mind about wanting a house. Come. Pinckney, for goodness sake let's away from here. I believe it's worse fnan the city." She hadn't no more'n landed at Hickory Hick-ory Top before she goes to the 'phone, and for the next half hour she's busy on a long distance call. When she Joins us at dinner she looks happy and smilln' once more. "Well, I'm glad to say it's all settled," says she. "I'm sailing next Thursday." "Not for Algiers?" says Pinckney. She nods. "I had quitoa talk with the French consul in New York," says she, "and he thinks that the desert tribes are almost under control. At least, ho can assure me of military protection if I wish to occupy my villa "again. And I certainly cer-tainly do. I shall be in it in less than three weeks, and you've no idea how relieved re-lieved and safe I shall feel." Pinckney glances at me and shakes his head gloomy. But I notice he chirps up later on. "At least," he confides to me, "I shall no longer feel responsible. A complex such as that would have baffled baf-fled Freud himself." "That's the old guy who invented this dpne about twisted minds, eh?" says T. Pinckney says it is. "You should read the book, Sriorty." he adds. "No, thanks," says I "Folks look odd enough to me as it is. without my judgin' 'em accordjn" to somebody's mlnce-pie dream. I might got the idea you had one of them complex things, too." "Oh, I say, now!" says Pinckney, look-in look-in shocked. -w-T didn't seem as though it could be x I so. but all the signs read that Pinck- nay had something on his mind. For A one thing he hadn't favored mo with a foolish remark for at least four minutes. He'd just been sittin' there in tho front office of the Physical Culture Studio, holdln' a cigarette at arm's length between his thumb and forefinger, and stariu' at it like it was one of these crystal crys-tal gazln' balls. Also he'd chuckled twice, and Pinckney Pinck-ney only chuckles out loud when things are fcoln' wrong. When he's really pleaseJ or amused he takes it out In twist In' his mouth around and hunch in' his eyebrows; but when something serious seri-ous is happenln' to him, such as discov-erin discov-erin that his man has put pearl cuff Jinks in his afternoon shirt, or that tfie butler has used the wrong kind of vinegar vine-gar in the salad dressin', then he disguises dis-guises his real feelin's by makin' this queer noise in his throat. At the second chuckle I turns my head around to get a better look. "Aw, come.'" says t "Spill it." "Eh? I I beg pardon?" says he, coming com-ing out of the spell gradual. "Oh, yes' I must have been thinking. Shorty." "Painful process, ain't it?" says I. "'Specially when you ain't used to it." He waves that aside easy, lights a fresh dope stick, and squints at me through a smoke ring. ' 'Shorty," says he, "were you ever troubled by an elderly female relative who had developed a social complex?" com-plex?" "I ain't sure," says I. "I remember an aunt who was a snuff dipper." "Xo," says he, "I fear you do not quite grasp the meaning of social complex. It's a Freudian term, and is used to indicate a person who But perhaps It would be simpler to tell you directly about Cousin Martha." "What!" says I. "The nice lookin' little lit-tle old girl with the silver hair and the live-wire eyes? You don't mean to tell me her gears are out of mesh?" "Only in the Freudian sense, if at all," says Pinckney. "Any complex is difficult diffi-cult to determine, you know. And her's takes a peculiar turn. She insists that New York is not a fit place in which to live." "It's lucky they can't put you In the nut works for that," says I. "It they could there wouldn't be enough barred windows to go around." Pinckney shrugs his shoulders. "Oh, I understand," says he. "With young children chil-dren growing up it's different. But Cousin Martha has no such excuse." He's perfectly serious about this. Any-hody Any-hody who can live in New York and don't Well, there must be something the matrer with 'em. Course, it's all right enough to be away two or three months in the summer, or to have a country coun-try place like his Hickory Top joint up in Connecticut where you can run out for the week end; but not to be within walkln' distance of Fifth avenue most of the year, not to have one or two clubs where you call the doorman by his first name that's his idea of a dull gray existence. ex-istence. You might as well be a potato apron tin' in some cellar.' 1 happened to bo in on the little debate he had with this Cousin Martha when she first showed up, a month or so back. She's a cousin of his mother's, as a matter mat-ter of fact, a widow. Her huljby had been a banker in some one-horse burg up state somo place llko Cohoes, or Sken-eatales, Sken-eatales, or Malone and . when he'd chocked out, ten years or so ago, Martha had hegun this globe trottin' act of hers. First off she'd only been rung in on one Df these sixty-day steamer trips; where, they hustle you through tho Orient iind wants any of the natives to do a day's "?s8S work he has to beg 'ern real humble. -rrp 1 wSjjSShfcfc.K "Hero you are," s-ay as wc siviaigs jjjj&b jjjjpj into the nmln road. ''Here ' lLllF fS lllf ' T .r 1 "Gang of yeggs blowed it last night. Got vwvVlffl 'l 1 K-V'i 'csoi fier ''f aepartmerit a,vay with npar $60 in cash and a lot of rS?T.S ) i Kv ore where I Uyut fa Alnj lTll ,.three ;f 3N8Sl w AnnLorte of the sliest diP3 wewirrif ) SsPlw ill PU5lie3S. lep Cousin Martha from hearin' the washed Mondays, ironed Tuesdays, rf c?Hfo cleaned house Wednesdays and baked rKi Saturdays. When I had two we did the F?' "'(a "Ijtv same. I remember but two occasions Jw& j&<&2& when the schedule was broken. Once IftN f 'W' Abner took me to New York and I saw ,'i'f sy, '"'ZBiisSRwS 'The Old Homestead' at the Academy of V1 . & jfiEe Music, and once we went to Syracuse to 1 ivSTcffftS. J Kl attend his brother's funeral. Abner was , ' I jiSSE . a In a good man, a kind husband but twenty I rfs.fL T -2bu ,- ?' years of 6 o'clock suppers had worn a A. J tx for '&ft)tf$P' groove into which I fitted as a snail in "yf yS i jfi I :''l . f its shell. I didn't know it until I, es- SS Nfcair iV. .va8SS W 1 A i caped by accident. And I have never vtfTSMkY &3K 'fir? ifi s&&TaT W V wW50 eaten at 6 o'clock since." A m9Smkr llk ' - flWfaKC-w l tfv "But Just where have you been during xJlvCwi 4k 7RH ' L3SE fl VWkKk the last two years?" asks Pinckney. WJH'W I i, A P?T H rVt4fs 1 A K Sffi TT 'w "Oh, wandering about, waiting for ,$ W, 'i v fflfj ) M M W Sjl iWlr " W Europe, Asia and Africa to settle down," if V.-. "vSffS i $ V if. i i e fvVUHs ' 4 - )K f-Jl'WSit says Aunt Martha. "I spent a delightful M '' v. ,('?M t W fa J I TfV PtSMM vk W ''?' U i:'J eight months In Japan. Then I crossed fm i . ' u xi ! a 'Wt J jf J to? W ilV lf JftlfU! to Honolulu, expecting to stay a week, fJ :AH ? V 1 W,n3i& w! ffiHlwVBlk. WW5 and lingered there a whole season. Next W v YBlI SLi : $ , i . ""SSk "''sT JSWl V.'Wl MK'ti down the west coast of South America. )' 1 'S'. f$ it I -, ih '"A. I i 'Ml :t?'ft i I was charmed with Lima. And coming , ? l3 f A fi ' ! h V. UA WWWv'. ; :i'; U V J'-vSJPmiMl back I spent a winter in Colon. Now I am ' , 1 K : ',. .' ,y Vt IssNZmCSpIu iN 'SWs'af W fiS'Sf ' .ViSG y-i waiting to hear if it is safe to go back V '' N V vl Wf WS rSaiKiS m 'WfW.'-' 'f? W to my villa on the outskirts of Algiers. I M ;i V.' i5 VI ' Vftv j,v rSSmi, 'mVf 1 Wht Bui they say the desert tribes are still A ' Lt ty A ml isV fW-SSdRtl lllSs dm restive. It was one of their raids which -W I'M WII Ml VJl Mk Y'' JP3?5Si? lWVi$PiScV wif&?fk drove me out, you know. Wo could see v v I J ." 'iW.il I V I t J I'.K . rjT. .1 SHnO' WrWl them from the upper windows, rushing In i 1 XWes' 1 W 1 W jrMZ74kwrk liflt i Ir&f 4n from the wlilte hills, and for ten days we j i Rl I ':tK A- '.W'fp W-?f ' cally besieged, "dohope Uie'y Will 'calm ' ' III) ill.. 11 mSsSKUBmpMu. lrBsa&$itif down soon, so that I may go back." i 'l tiff WW V, V$ffiflr'Tjtt "Go back!" echoes Pinckney. "That is i K . ifl'1 . i'HlsW- iff li ' KBnPk ' Nffl ' what I fail to understand, Martha. There's I JfVV ',W, II 11 WEbbtt I - ffiBHrCWflllrff '$:iWMt no necessity for you to live in such re- ' ' ' '. 2 .Hjl '9SBV' I iVTuTmt-hiu ii rS i-S f K 1 mote and utterly impossible places, is J0T& J ; 'V-Wfff I Ml U( Si -i '-M' :i '-"'S S, there? You haven't been banished, or sTf'i t&fyPWttff MlWlSwlfflMnA t anything. You haven't bartered your (V'. " i I If tf ft$ljtfPwMffimWte'&i& birthright for a mess of potash " w''if ,J WHS vLk" - W ih? Wi K3TO'lfiv ' t5 "4 "Pottage, my dear Pinckney," puts in ir z. " T 9 hs MRP?akZlB'' S !fWiW)'f RwP''ISM Cousin Martha. AO, tfl&ttKS; S3J5 I. 6ilfeffirV & MMwJ "Quite the same," says Pinckney. i. , . viSW.WWOT ' ' i 'i'1 , '?ff '.- : ''' :" .'V! "Anyway, why exile yourself?" rfyAJ W.f Odd ll(MlWmWm It ffl Ifi f imMM Her answer to that is simple. She ' ., . . ,f , ptMvMmP WN&k H i $ ' "' lh kind of likes it, for one thing; besides, ) mp XI 1 5 WffrJUC Jf S wWWiW!J WSSr. i i MMl li'mMStW4 fi iVt. she has to live somewhere. The old home W flUi CtS Lb OJ, (JCUCVCUs $ ffjAff i( fif H HSBHwamin'mVMtt town won't do any longer. She's off ,, 'am ji vfsi 't K ? ft (f I X ' I'MWu Wmil M'HM them hick stations for good. And as HtU JUOZlll effLd&OrUWli $ f & -, Kg I IB U 'ifttSStSFm j 'MfA 'W for settlln' down In New York, as Pinck- 1 it 181' &R l'i i fTHHtitibii ttwi'll ' JSS ney suggests she really couldn't. She 10 JOnLePOalJ MlZ-Ce- ? I 3 l SWwM$A X:$ tVl doesn't care for our town, and never did. . , J t ' I 3 B V 1 l" ff f-tiMS fP 9 v 3 E H "But why?" insists Pinckney. TJf P ft ' l-P X 7T1 'f i 1 911 iV iRmJ J Ir.fl "If you must know," says Cousin Mar- Pt" (Lf 07. f Iff. IT ' ffif M I--5 Ff tha, "I think New York Is perfectly hor- ; U.f 'IWYi ujrV rid. You call it a great t;ity. I don't Viral It's big enough, goodness knows. But it Ml , - , Isn't urban, as Havana is. That's n W real city. So is Buenos Ayres.- And washed Mondays, ironed Tuesdays, cleaned house Wednesdays and baked Saturdays. When I had two we did the same. I remember but two occasions when the schedule was broken. Once Abner took me to New York and I saw 'The Old Homestead' at the Academy of Music, and once we went to Syracuse to attend his brother's funeral. Abner was a good man, a kind husband but twenty years of 6 o'clock suppers had worn a groove into which 1 fitted as a snail in its shell. I didn't know it until , h escaped es-caped by accident. And I have never eaten at 6 o'clock since." "But Just where have you been during the last two years?" asks Pinckney. "Oh, wandering about, waiting for Europe, Asia and Africa to settle down," says Aunt Martha. "I spent a delightful eight months In Japan. Then I crossed to Honolulu, expecting to stay a week, and lingered there a whole season. Next down the we3t coast of South America. I was charmed with Lima. And coming back I spent a winter in Colon. Now I am waiting to hear if it is safe to go back to my villa on the outskirts of Algiers. But they say the desert tribes are still restive. It was one of their raids which drove me out, you know. Wo could see them from the upper windows, rushing In from the white hills, and for ten days we lived behind barricaded gates, practically practi-cally besieged. I do hope they will calm down soon, so that I may go back." "Go back!" echoes Pinckney. "That is what I fail to understand, Martha. There's no necessity for you to live in such remote re-mote and utterly impossible places, is Dack, allowln you. time to buy picture postcards in Cairo. Constantinople and Bombay. She'd gono with an old friend n-ho was principal of a girls' boardin' ehool. She'd had to be urged a good leal at that. But once she found how asy It was to pack a steamer trunk and flit off to foreign parts she seemed to jet the habit. The next season she Bpent loin' the Riviera and she came back to he one-horse burg for only long enough o sell out the old double-breasted man-don man-don with lhe jig-saw decorations, and icandalizo tho members of lhe Sewing .-ircle by puffin' at a cork-tipped cigarette vhen tea was served. That winter she iad a villa at Biarritz, wherever that is. nd so it liad gone on since. "if you please, Cousin Martha," do-nands do-nands Pinckney, "why do you do IL?" She cocks her head 011 one side perky Ltid favors him with one of her ctuizziii' miles. "Why, my dear Plribkriey, ' says he, "I am enjoying the freedom of tile ale fifties. You fee, whtlo Abner was .live we led a most proper nnd wcll-irdored wcll-irdored life. The sun, moon and stars In holr orbits were not more regular. At :30 every week-day morning Abner left ionic for the bank. He returned at 5:15. ror more than twenty years we had sup-ier sup-ier at exactly 6 o'clock. On the first huraday of every month 1 entertained he circle. When 1 had but one maid we there? Yon haven't been banished, or anything. You haven't bartered your birthright for a mess of potash " ' "Pottage, my dear Pinckney," puts In Cousin Martha. "Quite the same," says Pinckney. "Anyway, why exile yourself?" Her answer to that is simple. She kind of likes it, for one thing; besides, she has to live somewhere. The old home town won't do any longer. She's off them hick stations for good. And as 'for settliu' down In New York, as Pinckney Pinck-ney suggests, she really couldn't. Khe doesn't care for our town, and never did. "But why?" insists Pinckney. "If you must know," says Cousin Martha, Mar-tha, "I think New York Is perfectly horrid. hor-rid. You call It a great tiity. I don't. It's big enough, goodness knows. But it Isn't urban, as Havana is. That's a real city. So is Buenos Ayres: And Cairo and Toklo and Madrid. But New "Vork is an overgrown country town, full of countrified people mixed indiscriminately indiscrimi-nately with the sjoum of manv. nations; a crude, noisy mob living in a crude, noisy manner. A sorry mess. I find it ' ' Pinckney gasps at that. He stares at Cousin Martha as If she's thrown an egg 1 at the statue of George Washington or committed high treason. "Oh. I say!" he protests. "Those are 1 Just your silly prejudices, that's all. And you have them because you don't really know New York. You haven't tried living liv-ing here. And you should. It isn't decent de-cent for a lone woman of your years to go wandering around the face of the earth the way you do. Positively, it isn't. Come, glvo us a trial." , His proposition was that Cousin Martha Mar-tha unpack her trunks at his house and stick out the rest of the winter. Ho was willin' to bet, too, that inside of two months she wouldn't want to live any- news. But she came rubberin' up and had to be told the whole tale. "Of course," says Pinckney, "that is quite unusual. May not happen again in' a life time' "I should think even a safe burglar would feel ashamed." says Cousin Martha, Mar-tha, "to disturb such a perfectly peaceful peace-ful spot as this. But I presume there'll be nothing of the sort for years now. And can't Mr. Uadd show me some houses?" Hi. seems a little surprised that the lady should actually want to live in the Hollow when she don't have to. but when she convinces him how that's the big idea of her visit he allows that there's plenty of room. "There's the Hicks place," says HI. "Best house in town." "But what about Jim Hicks?" says Pinckney. "Where Is ho living now?" ''He ain't Uvin' at all." says Mr, Ladd. ''Not since Tuesday last." "By Jove'." says Pinckney. "Sudden, wasn't It?" "Tol'able," says Hi. "Had his head right agin' the muzzle of the old pump-gun pump-gun of his when he touched 'er off with a stick. Couldn'ta done It much quicker. one was needed. They don't 'coma any slipperier, I understand. And they say she can use an automatic with the beat 01 'em." Cousin Martha shudders. "What a dreadful place to live in!" says she. "Nothing but crime and criminals and violenco wherever you turn. And yet Pinckney wishes me to make this my homo." ".No," says Pinckney. "I take it all back. I shouldn't have a moment's peace if you did, l'or you seem to have a fatal facility for unearthing trouble. I shall be glad if we can get you home before you stir up a riot." .' Cousin Martha smiles indulgent. "I'll tell you where I should like to try living liv-ing for a while," says she. "Where?" demands Pinckney. "In some quiet, sleepy, little Xew England En-gland villaffe, where nothing at all ever happens," says she. "You know, a very .small place. If I could onlv find ue that " Here Pinckney gives mo tho nudge. "Oh, I say, Shorty!" savs he. "What about Hickory Hollow?" "That ought to qualify," says I, "It isn't a big village, is it?" asks Cousin Martha. "It's a wide place in the road," says I, "with Ladd's general store on one side, Grange Hall on the other, and the Union church just beyond. It's up in ijtho Connecticut valley, twelve miles from a railroad and three from Plnck-ney's Plnck-ney's country place, Hickory Top." "And you are sure nothing happens there?" insists Cousin Martha. "Why," says I, "I believe one corner of the old barrel factory burned down durln' the blizzard of '98. and then two summers ago Let's see, what was the big excitement then, Pinckney?" "I think that was when one of Im Pickett's cows tried to swallow a turnip." tur-nip." says he. "That was It," says I. "And aside from them two catastrophes the Hollow Hol-low has been .fairly peaceful. Course, the R. F. D. flivver comes roarln' through once a day." "I think I should like to see Hickory Hollow," announces Martha. "Nothing simpler." says Plncknev. "Shorty and I had arranged to drive up tomorrow. You see. I am adding two bathrooms, and the caretaker can't seeih to understand from the architect's drawings just where the tuhs are to be set. We'll get Mrs. Mcf'nbe and Mrs. Bruce to go along and make a weekend week-end party of !t. And you shall Inspect the Hollow." So that's what we did. It s onlv a four-hour nut In Pinekncy.'s limousine I and we lands at Hickory Top in time tor a late luncheon. And by 2:30 we was drlvin' down to the village. It sure looks peaceful and quiet enough. Why not, with nothing to do hut wait for next spring? What people live on in a place like that has always been a mystery to me. I've asked Pinckney, but r.f course he don't know. And Hi. Ladd, who runs I the store, he'll oniv hunch his shoulders. shoul-ders. Yet here are fort:.' or fifty houses, I with as many families, T suppose, scat- tered around. Nice, r.eat painted houses, some of 'em. too; others not so neat, if expect they farm a litrle. but not enough j to hurt themselves. They raise a few ! potatoes, cut a few tons of hay, have a j few hogs and cows and hens. There are I two or three fairly good ajplc orchards. One man has half a dozen hives of bees. But nobodv seems to work reg-lar at anything special, and outside of the one clerk in I.add'n and the postmistress postmis-tress I can t see where a pay envelope is distributed, from one year's end to the other. Ana Pinckney says when he where else in tho world. And Cousin Martha had smiled and said that to please him she would take a chance. . Most folks would, for it anybodv in this burg lives comfy and elegant it's the Lionel Pinckney Ogdeu Bruces. Course, their big old brownstone house is on Madison and not Fifth, and they don't splurge on annual crushes that win columns col-umns of space in the society doin's; but Plnckfiey's been a box subscriber to the opera and horse show since he came of age, and Mrs. B'ruce's twelve-plate dinner din-ner pantos are admitted to be the last word in polite feedin". So if there was any place where Cousin Martha could set; New York at its best Pinckney's was the spot. Yet here he is shakln' his head over her. "She will persist in poking around in such queer places," says he. "Yesterday she was down on the lower cast side -and saw the police rounding up a gang of gunmen. Coming home she got mixed up in a crush on the Third avenue L and watched the guards put off some car rowdies. The day before she' went with some friend who has charge of a settlement settle-ment house and sat all through a session of police court. Told us all about the long line of prisoners drunks, thieves, street walkers and so on at dinner that night. And today she's missing again. She "was to have lunched with us at the Plutoria at 1:30, but she never came. Heaven knows where she is." "Lively old girl, I'll say," says I. "Maybe this time she's " Just then the phone rings and I answers an-swers it. "For you, Pinckney." savs I. handin' over the receiver. "Mrs Bruco on the wire." "What!" says Pinckney, after ilsten-ln' ilsten-ln' a minute. You don't mean it! Yes, I'll go right down." Then ho turns to me. "It's Cousin Martha again. She's held nt police headquarters." "Maybe she's been overheard statin' her opinion of the town." I suggests. But that wasn't quife the case. "Suspicious character." says the detective detec-tive sergeant who brought her in. "I got her up tn a department store where I was laying for Albany Annie, one of the slickest lody dips in the business. 1 was just nipphr Annie, with her fingers ou a go'.d mesh purse, when this other one interfered and started giving me a line of talk. One of the same gang, I expect, ex-pect, so I brought her along. She's in havln' her thumb autographs printed." Course, if Would have been satlsfvin' to have pointed out to him how he was all right except for too much bone In the head, but It wouldn't havo got us any-where. any-where. Instead I hunts up a deputv com- . mlssioner that I happens to know, ex- j plains who Pinckney is, has him make an affidavit that this is a cousin of his in good standing, and in the course of I an hour or so we are aliowed to lead ! Martha out into Mulberry street and hail a taxi. "Just as a matter of curiositv, Cousin Martha," says Pinckney, "Why did yon interfere?" "Because," says Martha, "the woman was so well dressed and had such nice eyes. The officer was rather rough about it. too. He grabbed her toy the wrist. Now, there was no V.ecessity for that was there." And she turns to me. "If It was Albany Annie." savs I. "I should say that a quick s""ab and a sure |
