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Updated: June 26, 2025
It was always funny when Fibsy interlarded his talk with legal phrases, but he was unconscious of any incongruity and went on: "You see, as I dope it out, she's accustomed to sit in Miss Van Allen's boodore a-sewin' an' might have overheard some gossip or sumpum like that, an' Miss Van Allen was afraid she'd scatter it, an' so she sent Julie to shut her up.
So Fibsy glued his eyes once more to that fascinating jam jar up on the eighth-story window-sill, and slowly walked away. Under his breath he was singing, "Raz Berry Jam! Raz Berry Jam! " to the tune of a certain march from Lohengrin, which somehow represented to his idea the high note of triumph. He proceeded along the cross street, and at Fifth Avenue he entered a bus.
It was not my watch, it was a very faint ticking one, but all else was so still, that I positively heard it." "Gee!" said Fibsy, in an explosive whisper. "Then he seemed about to move away. Impulsively, I made a movement to detain him. Almost without volition acting on instinct I put out my hand and clutched his arm.
He felt uneasy, for it was growing dusk, and the old lady was in such a state of nervous exhilaration that he shrank a little from her proximity. But Fibsy was game. "Go on, ma'am," he whispered. "Yes," Aunt Abby declared, with an eerie smile of triumph, "I saw him I heard him I felt him I smelled him and, I tasted him!"
"Come on, boy," Aunt Abby regarded him kindly; "I'd be glad of your company." At the street door, the old lady asked for a taxicab, and the strangely assorted pair were soon on their way. "You're a bright lad, Fibsy," she said; "by the way, what's your real name I forget." "Terence, ma'am; Terence McGuire. I wish't I was old enough to be called McGuire! I'd like that."
Fibsy himself said nothing beyond a brief "good morning," and the lad's eyes were red and his voice shook as he spoke. "I knew," Stone said, as we finished breakfast, "that there must be some means, some secret means of communication between the two houses, the Schuyler house and this.
Quick to take a cue, the boy didn't show any embarrassment, but putting out his hand said, "How do you do, Mr. Hanlon?" "Fine. How's yourself? And why the sneak visit, my boy?" Fibsy looked his questioner square in the eye, and then said, "Oh, well, I s'pose I may as well speak right out." "You sure may. Either tell the truth, or put up such a convincing lie that I'll think it's the truth.
"How do I know that?" "That's so, how do you?" Fibsy's grin was sociable. "Well, look here, I guess this'll fix it. I'm errand boy to you know who " he winked mysteriously, "to the man he takes his acrobat lessons off of." "Oh," the woman looked frightened. "Hush up it's all right. Only don't mention no names. Go on upstairs third floor front." "Yep," and Fibsy went quietly up the stairs.
What marvelous precautions they had taken! To think of having a set of teeth for the maid Julie that should appear so different from those of Tibbetts! Surely this thing was the result of long and careful planning. "Her glasses, too," went on Fibsy. "You see, they made her different from Tibbetts in appearance.
Boy, what do you mean by raspberry jam?" "Oh, nothin'," and Fibsy wriggled bashfully. "You tell him, Miss Ames." It needed little encouragement to launch Aunt Abby on the story of her "vision" and she told it in full detail. Marigny seemed interested, though a little impatient, and tried to hurry the recital.
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