she broke out, but Mr. McKee only nodded in a bored way and turned his attention to Tom.

“I'd like to do more work on Long Island if I could get the entry. All I ask is that they should give me a start.”

“Ask Myrtle,” said Tom, breaking into a short shout of laughter as Mrs. Wilson entered with a tray. “She'll give you a letter of introduction, won't you, Myrtle?”

“Do what?” she asked, startled.

“You'll give McKee a letter of introduction to your husband, so he can do some studies of him.” His lips moved silently for a moment as he invented. “ 'George B. Wilson at the Gasoline Pump,' or something like that.”

Catherine leaned close to me and whispered in my ear: