PEGGY-IN-THE-RAIN
Peter sighed his relief. "Well, any time you really want me to—to do anything," he said vaguely, "you let me know, eh? Of course, it would be rather a bore to go back there in this weather, what?"
"It would, Pete. That reminds me. I'm going over the line in September. Why don't you and Leona and Mrs. Morrill come along? I'll make you comfortable."
"Rippin'! I'd like to, old man. I don't know, though, about Leona and her mother. I say, you—er—you say something about it, eh? "
"All right. Anyway, even if they don't want to come, you'll join me, won't you?"
Peter looked grave until he caught Gordon's twinkle. Then he grinned again. "Oh, I don't mind your jokes, old chap. Just you wait till you get caught!" He was silent a minute. Then, lowering his voice, he said: "By the way, remember that time I told you about her?"
"About who?"
"Leona. You know; I told you one night in some restaurant or other that I was thinking of doing the Steve Brodie; recollect?" Gordon nodded. "Well, say, old chap, I made a crack
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