Average Jones could, and did. He found Miss Graham's piquant face
under the stress of excitement, distinctly more alluring than
before.
"Isn't it strange?" she said, holding out a hand in welcome. "Why
should any one advertise for my Peter Paul? He isn't lost."
"I am glad to hear that," said the caller gravely.
"I've kept my promise, you see," pursued the girl. "Can you do as
well, and live up to your profession of aid?"
"Try me."
"Very well, do you know what that advertisement means?"
"Perfectly."
"Then you're a very extraordinary person."
"Not in the least. I wrote it."
"Wrote it! You? Well--really! Why in the world did you write it?"
"Because of an unconquerable longing to see," Average Jones paused,
and his quick glance caught the storm signal in her eyes, "your
uncle," he concluded calmly.
For one fleeting instant a dimple flickered at the corner of her
mouth. It departed. But departing, it swept the storm before it.
"What do you want to see uncle about, if it isn't an impertinent
question?"
"It is, rather," returned the young man judicially.
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