made a slight movement of his arm and the whisky disappeared smoothly.
"Your Aunt Edith's taste is as good as her voice," he said, eyeing Caroline carefully.
"Oh, that's not Aunt Edith's—that's Uncle Joe's," she explained. Then, as it flashed across her suddenly.
"Did you want to see him? He's in New York, too. They're going to have pictures taken of Miss Honey and General. But after that, Uncle Joe's going to Chicago. Did you want him?"
"N-no, not exactly," said the man, studying his well-kept finger-nails. "I can't say I do. No, my business is with—is more—"
He stopped suddenly and followed the direction of Caroline's eyes.
There on the sideboard behind him stood a leather suit-case, long and solid looking. It was open and tight rows of forks and spoons filled it.
The room was quite still for a moment. Caroline wanted to show by some intelligent remark that she understood the situation, and could
