New Britain herald., 1922-07-31
What Harry Underwood Asked
 Niadge to Tell Him.

I shall not soon forget the hour in which l drove Harry Underwood from the big Smythe-Hopkins house at Southampton where he had heen masqueradine as Don Ramon Almirez to Greenport by way Of the Shelter Island ferries,
 In one respect, at least, il was like escortins the ghost Of some one I had known, The voice and manner were the unforgettabe one of Harry J-n- derwood, but they came from beneath heavy snow white mustachios and Van Dyke beard, which not only thor oughly disguised him, but added twen- ty years to his age. When I had known him his hair also, had been black with just enough gray sprinkled through it to make a most striking frame for his ruddy face Now his hair was all white, and to all appear ances he was an old man, still hand- some, still vigorous, but undeniably old.
 Pipe the Manner
 Disconcerting also was the kaleido- scopic manner in which he changed from one personality to another. From the time he had taken the seat be- side me in the car, up 10 the moment we entered Smythe- Hopkins grounds even through the unexpected encoun- ter with Dr. Petit. he had been the old, Irresponsible, rough, slangy Harry Underwood But at the entrance to the home where he had been en- tertained he was transformed on the instant into the courtly dignitary whom he was personating Yet he could not resist the impish impulse to excite my laughter by muttering out of the corner of his mouth as the correst English butler appeared at his summons:
 Pipe the manner. Amt he just the sweetest?"
 T did not hear the tale he told the butler as an excuse for getting his belongings out of the house. That it was a convincing story, and also that he had distributed convincing largesse I deduced from the obsequi- ous hustle which pervaded the house. And it was in surprisingly short time that two of the buffers helpers ap- peared and deposited the steamer trunk in the tonneau of my car, and the imposing butler himself escorted the supposed Don Ramon to a seat beside me and directed the disposal of his smart hand-luggage in the spaces around the trunk
 It was not until we had left the grounds that the man at my side spoke:
 "1s your well-known Puritan con- science in it's usual well-oiled condi- ton, or could it be bit rusty?''
 Why" I asked non-committa1ly
 Because it is quite necessary that your story to the smythe- Hopkins family should agree with the tale I just told the butler"
 Harry Underwood's Story.
 T do not see that my conscience has anything to do with it." I re- turned. If you relate to me what you said to the butler I have no right to question it's truth"
 He laughed lightly.
 You won't so back on the returns, eh? That's a good little girl. You're improving under the Dicky- bird tutelage. Youll be a petticoated little Machiavelli in time"
 There was an intangible something in his voice that betrayed a subtle disappointment and I guessed that with the inconsistency of his type of masculine soul, he would have pre- ferred me to exhibit what both men used to dub my 'buckram principles. even at the cost of interfering with his plans.
 made no answer to his sally, for felt a sudden shamefaced conviction that he had jestingly spoken the truth, and that l had lost in part the rigid ideals of my youth. But in loyalty I would not admit even to myself that association with my husbands tenets had anything to do with the change. There was nothing for me to do but await MT Underwood's s farther speech.