Kewpie shouldn't know that we—that we'd been discussing him and that we had—well, conspired, Ned. Don't you see? He might resent it or something."
"I get you! We'll make a secret society out of it, eh? Association for the Restoration—no, that won't do."
"Advancement," suggested Mae.
"Association for the Reclamation of Kewpie Proudtree!" pronounced Ned. "And the password—"
"Association for the Degradation of Laurence Turner, you mean," said Laurie dejectedly. "And there isn't any password, because he won't pass!"
"All right," agreed Ned. "But the dues are twenty cents. Here you are, Polly. You've got 'treasurer' written all over you."
"But—but what is it?" asked Polly, refusing to accept the two dimes that Ned proffered.
"Madam, I am settling the debt of none other than our distinguished and rattle-brained friend Kewpie. At his request. It seems he—er—he neglected to settle for the entertainment you pro-
