With the detonation of the gun in her ears, Dorothy flung herself against the door and slammed it shut. Her hand fumbled for the key, found it and sent the bolt shooting into place. About the house the rain-lashed wind howled and moaned like some wild thing in torment. Her heart was pumping and her breath came in choking gasps. Leaning against the solid oak door she pressed her ear to a panel.

The noise of the storm muffled all other sound, but she thought she could detect the mumble of men’s voices just outside the door. It was impossible to catch the words, of course, but the mere sound told the girl that they were standing on the small front porch. To her right was a sitting room. She hurried into it.

A quick flash of her torch showed two windows facing the drive. She tried the catches. They were unlocked. She fastened them and ran out of the room, down the hall to the rear. The light from the library threw the staircase into silhouette. Dorothy started for the dining room, but stopped short as the young man whom she had sent Betty in to free, bounded into the hall.

“Hello!” he cried. “Do you know where they are?”

Dorothy pointed toward the front door.

“Right out there!”

“Good! I’ll fix ’em!”

He raced up the stairs and she heard him running toward the front of the house.

“Betty!” she called. “Come here!”

“What is it?” answered that young lady’s voice from the library. “George told me to stay in this room.”

“George?” exploded Dorothy. She ran to the door and looked in. Betty was toasting her soaking pumps from a chair before the fire. She turned her head when Dorothy appeared and beckoned toward the blaze.

“Yes – George Conway,” she explained smilingly. “He owns this house, you see.”

Dorothy’s fingers pressed the wall switch and the electric lights went out.

“Well, you are a fast worker – ” was her comment. “Dash over to those windows and see that they’re fastened. Then pile some of these chairs and tables in front of the French doors – anything will do, just so it’s heavy. Hurry – and when you’ve finished, go into the hall and stay there.”

Betty stared through the darkness. “But George says – ”

“I don’t care what George says! The hall is the safest place right now.”

“Well, why can’t you help me?” grumbled Betty. “Suppose those awful men come before I’ve – ”

“They won’t if you snap to it. I’m off to fasten the windows in the rest of the house.”

This last was thrown over her shoulder as she tore across to the dining room. After making the rounds in there she went into the kitchen. Here she found a window open and the back door unlocked. It took her but a moment to remedy this, and she was passing back to the dining room when there came a terrific crash and reverberation from the floor above, followed by screams and curses from outside.

She went out into the hall and another report from above shook the windows in their frames.

Betty, wild-eyed with fright, rushed into the bright arc of Dorothy’s flash light.

“What on earth is it?” she cried in very evident alarm.

“Shotgun,” said Dorothy tersely. “If those yells meant anything, I guess we can take it that somebody’s been hit.”

Then she noticed that Betty’s left hand held an open compact, while in her right she clutched a small rouge puff. Her ash-gold hair which she wore long had become unknotted and hung halfway down her back. Her petite figure drooped with weariness.

“Gracious, Betty! How in the wide world did you ever get rouge on the end of your nose? You’re a sight!”

“Well, you turned out the light – ” Miss Mayo’s tone was indignant, as she rubbed the end of her nose with a damp handkerchief. “I think I’ll run upstairs and spruce up a bit.”

Dorothy looked at her and laughed.

“Come on up with me,” suggested Betty. “You don’t look so hot yourself.”

“No, you run along and pander to your vanity, my child. When you’ve finished, why don’t you go into the kitchen and make us a batch of fudge – that would be just the thing!”

“Why so sarcastic?” Betty raised her delicate eyebrows.

“Well – what do you think we’ve run into – a college houseparty or something?”

“Oh, I think you’re mean,” Betty pouted.

“But you do choose the queerest times to spiff up!”

“Do you think those men will try to get in again!” Betty’s blue eyes widened.

“If I didn’t know that your head was a fluffball – But what’s the use. Run along now. It sounds as if George were coming down. Hurry up – you might meet him on the stairs!”

“Cat!” said Betty and flew.

Dorothy went to the door and listened. If the two men were still outside, they gave no sign of their presence. Nothing came to her ears through the panels but the howl of the storm.

Then she heard footsteps running down the stairs from the second story and switched her flashlight on George. He carried a double barreled shotgun in the hollow of his arm.

“Howdy!” he greeted her enthusiastically. “You know, I can never thank you girls enough for all you’ve done. Gosh! You’re a couple of heroes, all right – I mean heroines. When I saw Betty – I mean, Miss Mayo,” he amended quickly with an embarrassed grin, “come sprinting into the library and begin to cut me loose, why I just couldn’t believe my eyes!”

“Some wonderworker, isn’t she?” Dorothy contrived to look awestruck, but there was no malice in her amused tone.

“You said it – she’s a whizbang! And she told me you two came in an airplane. I’ve never met a girl aviator before. I guess she’s a second Dorothy Dixon – you must have read what the newspapers said about that girl!” He shook his head admiringly. “Betty sure has nerve!”

“She has, indeed!” Dorothy kept her face straight with an effort. “But tell me – what did you do to that crew outside?”

“Plugged ’em – clean. Got a bead on them through a front window.”

“What? You – killed them? Buckshot, at that distance?”

George chuckled. “Not buckshot – rock salt. Use it for crows, you know. It stings like the dickens.”

“I’ll bet it does!” Dorothy’s laugh was full-throated and hearty.

“What’s become of them?” she asked when she could speak.

“They beat it around the house to the garage. Do you know what happened to their car?”

“Yes. It ran away – down the lots to the bottom of the valley. And between you and me and the hatrack, I don’t think it will ever run any more.”

“Gee whiz!” chuckled George. “Who’d ever think a little thing like Betty would have the pluck to pull a stunt like that!”

“Who would?” said Dorothy and joined in the laugh.

“Well, as long as their car is out of the running, they’ll probably try to steal my flivver.” George tapped his gun significantly, “But I’ll put a crimp in that. They’ve got to pass the dining room windows to get out of here.”

“You needn’t bother – the Ford won’t move.”

“Sure it will.” George stopped short in the doorway and turned toward her. “That car of mine runs like a watch.”

“But not without gas,” explained Dorothy. “I drained the tank into a couple of tins.”

“You did?”

“Sure thing. Parked the tins in your orchard. They’ll never find ’em.”

“Say!” exclaimed George. “You must be almost as good as Betty that is, I mean – ”

“Who’s taking my name in vain?” Miss Mayo was tripping blithely downstairs. “You two seem to be finding a lot to talk about.”

George stared at her. “Say, you certainly look swell when you’re dolled up.”

“Well, it’s the best I can do now,” deprecated Betty. “I borrowed a pair of your slippers though – woolly ones. That is, I s’pose they’re yours?”

“Glad to have you wear ’em.” George’s eyes were still glued to Betty’s pretty face when Dorothy broke in.

“Look here, we’ll have to get down to business. George – listen to me. Betty won’t melt, you know – ”

“Oh, I think you’re terrible – ” interrupted Betty.

Her friend paid no attention, but kept on talking to George. “Do you really think they’ve gone?”

He nodded. “I’m pretty sure they have – that is, for the present. You can’t do a whole lot when your hide is full of salt. I’ll bet they’re kiting down the road right now. Maybe they’ll stop in at the Robinson’s or somewhere and get a lift to Stamford or Ridgefield or wherever they came from. They may have some pals about here, of course. I sort of gathered that they weren’t working on their own – that there was somebody in back of them.”

“Well, at least we can count on a breather. Let’s go in the library and turn on the light. I’m tired of standing about in this hall and I want to dry out by the fire.”

In the library, George pushed a couple of easy chairs before the comforting blaze. Dorothy cast aside her slicker and helmet and dropped into one of them. She kicked off her sodden shoes and stretching her legs toward the warmth, drew forth a comb and proceeded to make herself neat. George perched on the arm of Betty’s chair, and the two stared at the flames without speaking.

At last Dorothy put her comb away, turned to George and broke the silence.

“It’s none of my particular business, of course, but would you mind telling me the reason for all this rough house? Why did those men attack you and tie you up – what were they doing around here?”

George shook his head slowly. “Hanged if I know,” he said.

“You don’t know? But they seemed to be asking you questions – from what I could see through the window, it looked that way.”

“That’s right. But – but – well, you two girls are real sportsmen. You’ve pulled me out of an awful mess. Heaven knows I appreciate what you’ve done, but I just can’t have you running any further risk on my account, Miss – ”

“Dixon,” supplied Betty. “I forgot you hadn’t been introduced.”

George leaned forward. “Do you come from New Canaan?” he shot out.

“Of course, we live there,” said Betty. “And I want you to know that Dorothy is my best friend. We’re seniors at the New Canaan High – if that interests you.”

“So you’re Dorothy Dixon, the flyer!” he exploded. “Suffering monkeys! I didn’t know I was entertaining a celebrity. Why, you’re the girl I was talking about – who – ”

“Here, here – don’t make me blush,” laughed Dorothy.

“But don’t you see? Your being Dorothy Dixon makes all the difference in the world.”

Dorothy’s eyebrows drew together in a puzzled frown.

“I don’t get you,” she said. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Why, if what the newspapers say is true, you simply eat up this gangster stuff – a whiz at solving all kinds of mysteries.”

“Nice lady-like reputation, what?” she mocked.

“Well, that’s all right with me. Because now – I have no hesitancy in telling you all I know about this queer business. You’ll probably know just what to do – and you’ll be a wonderful help.”

“How about me?” Betty was a direct little person and seemed at no pains to disguise her feelings. “I don’t think you’re a bit polite, George!”

“Oh, I feel differently about you – ” stammered that young man, then stopped short and looked painfully embarrassed.

Dorothy thought it time she took matters into her own hands.

“Don’t be silly, Betty, George knows how clever you are!” She flashed a mischievous glance at her friend, then went on in a serious tone. “And of course we’re keen to hear all about it, George, and we’ll do anything we can to help you. But your story will keep a while longer. I hope you don’t mind my mentioning such a prosaic thing – but do you happen to have anything to eat in the house?”

“Oh, my gosh! Of course I have – ” he threw a glance at the clock and jumped to his feet. “It’s nearly eight o’clock. You girls must be starved! Sit right here and I’ll bring supper in a jiffy. I was just about to eat mine when those two thugs dropped in and put an end to it for the time being.”

“I’ll help you,” offered Betty, hopping out of her chair.

“That’s a good plan,” decreed Dorothy. “While you’re starting things in the kitchen, I’d like to use the phone, if I may.”

“There it is, on that table in the corner,” said George. “Hop to it. I’ll drive you home later in the flivver.”

“Thanks, but I’ve got to have gas for my plane. We’ll talk it over at supper, shall we?”

She took up the telephone and the others hurried from the room.

Presently she joined them in the kitchen.

“I called up your mother, Betty, and told her you were spending the night with me,” she announced. “Dad is away, so I got hold of Bill Bolton and he’ll be over here in about twenty minutes.”

“Oh, fine – ” began Betty and stopped short as an electric bell on the wall buzzed sharply.

For a moment they stared at it in startled silence. Then George spoke. “Somebody’s ringing the door bell,” he said slowly.

Chapter IV
VISITORS

“You girls stay in here – I’ll go,” continued George, his hand on the swinging door to the dining room.

“No, you shan’t!” Betty sprang before him, blocking his way.

“Don’t make such a fuss,” said Dorothy. “Somebody’s got to go. Come here!”

Her long arm shot out and Betty was held in a light embrace that seemed as unbending as tempered steel.

“Stop wriggling,” she commanded. “This is George’s job. Did you leave your gun in the library, George?”

“Yes. I’ll pick it up on the way.”

“Better not do that. Maybe it’s one of your neighbors.”

“Haven’t any. None of the people around here come to see me.”

The bell buzzed loudly again, and continued to do so. Someone was keeping a finger pressed on the button beside the front door.

“I have a plan,” Dorothy announced suddenly. “Betty, you stay here, and – ”

“And have them break in the back door while you two are in the front hall? No thanks – I’m coming with you, that’s all.”

Dorothy did not stop to argue. She hurried into the dining room and across the hall to the library, followed by the others.

“Look here,” she whispered, picking up the shotgun. “Slip on your jacket, George. That shirt will show anyone you’ve been in a fight. Betty and I will go into the front sitting room. It’s dark in there. Turn on the hall light and open the door as though everything were all right, and you expected a friend. If it is someone you know, they won’t see us in the sitting room. If it isn’t – and they try to start something, jump back so you’re out of line from the door to that room … and I’ll fill ’em full of salt!”

“Swell idea! A regular flank attack!” enthused the young man, struggling into his coat. “All set?”

He switched on the hall light. The girls ran into the sitting room. Dorothy stood in the dark with the shotgun pointed toward the hall and saw him turn the key and pull open the door.

“Good evening, George,” whined a high-pitched voice. “Mind if I come in for a minute or two?”

“Walk in, Mr. Lewis. Bad night, isn’t it?”

George’s face showed surprise but he swung the door wide and closed it with a bang as a tall figure, leaning heavily on a cane, shuffled into the lighted hallway. The man’s bent back, rounded shoulders and the rather long white hair that hung from beneath the wide brim of his soft black hat, all bespoke advanced age. Immensely tall, even with his stoop, the old man towered over George, who was all of six feet himself. Although the night was not cold, he was buttoned to the chin in a long fur coat. Dorothy caught sight of piercing black eyes beneath tufted white eyebrows. The long, cadaverous, clean shaven face was a network of fine wrinkles.

“What say?” He cupped a hand behind his ear.

“I said it was a bad night to be out in,” shouted George. “What can I do for you?”

“Yes, that’s it, my lad – there’s something I – Yes, it’s a bad night – bad storm. Listen, George!”

“Yes, sir.”

“What say?”

“I’m listening, Mr. Lewis.”

“Well, listen then.”

The sharp eyes peered up and down the hall. Dorothy moved further back into the dark room.

“Your father had a lot of books, George – a very fine library.”

“Yes, he had.”

“What say?”

“I said he had.”

The old man shook his head. His high voice became querulous.

“I know he’s dead,” he snorted. “I’m talking about his books.”

“They are not for sale,” said George.

“Bless you – I don’t want to buy ’em. But there’s one I want to borrow.”

“Which one is that?”

“What say?”

George’s reply sotto voce was not polite. He was getting impatient.

“I want to borrow a book called Aircraft Power Plants; it’s by a man named Jones.”

Dorothy pricked up her ears.

“All right,” shouted George. “I’ll try to find it.”

“What say? Listen, George! Speak distinctly, if you can. I’m not deaf – just a little hard of hearing. Don’t mumble – you talk as though your mouth was full of hot potato. That’s a bad eye you’ve got – been in a fight?”

George ignored this last. “Listen – ” he said, then stopped, controlling a desire to giggle as he realized his plagiarism. “Come into the library, Mr. Lewis. I’ll try to find the book for you.” He took the old man by the arm and led him down the hall.

Betty crept over to Dorothy.

“Do you know who he is?” she asked in a low tone.

“Mr. Lewis, I gathered,” said Dorothy, straining her ears to catch the muffled sounds coming from the library. “He talked loud enough, – quite an old gentleman, isn’t he?”

“Old skinflint, you mean.”

“You’ve seen him before?”

“Certainly. I’ve seen him at our house. Daddy knows him – says he’s made a fortune, foreclosing mortgages and loaning money at high rates of interest. He’s terribly rich, though you’d never know it by his looks.”

“That’s interesting – wonder what he wants with George?”

“Came to borrow a book – that’s plain enough.”

“Almost too plain, if you want my opinion,” Dorothy said thoughtfully. “There’s no use guessing at this stage of the game.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Oh, nothing much. Can you hear what they’re saying in the next room?”

“They seem to be having an argument – but it’s not polite to listen – ”

“Polite, your grandmother! I’d listen if I could – but all I get is a mumble-jumble. I vote we go back to the kitchen. I want my supper. I’ll feel better when I’ve eaten. This house gives me the jim-jams for some reason.”

“Me, too,” Betty admitted ungrammatically. “Fancy being alarmed at the sound of a doorbell!”

“My word – and likewise cheerio!” Dorothy turned the flash on her friend. “How do you get that way, Betty? Been reading the British poets or something?”

Betty blinked in the glare. “Turn it off. No, I haven’t. Don’t you remember the movies last night? The English Duke in that picture – ” She broke off suddenly and caught at Dorothy’s arm. “Listen – Dot, listen!” she whispered.

From the rear of the house came a muffled pounding.

Dorothy shook her off. “I’ll dot you a couple, if you take liberties with my name,” she snapped. “And for goodness’ sake, don’t hold on to me that way, and stop that listen stuff! This isn’t an earthquake – somebody’s at the back door, and I’m going to see who it is!”

“But suppose those men have come back?”

“They’re too well salted down,” Dorothy flung back at her. “I fancy you’d better stay in here – if you’re alarmed!”

She crossed the hall to the dining room again and hurried through the kitchen with Betty close on her trail. That young person apparently preferred to chance it rather than be left alone.

Dorothy went at once to the back door.

“Who’s there?” she called, as the knocking broke out again.

“It’s Bill Bolton,” returned a muffled voice. “Is that you, Dorothy?”

She drew back the bolt and flung the door open.

“Hello, Bill!” she hailed. “You’re just in time for supper.”

A tall, broadshouldered young fellow wearing golf trousers and an old blue sweater which sported a Navy “N” came into the room. He was bareheaded and his thick, close-cropped thatch of hair was brown. When he smiled, Bill Bolton was handsome. A famous ace and traveller at seventeen, this friend of Dorothy’s had not been spoiled by notoriety. His keen gray eyes twinkled goodnaturedly as he spoke to Dorothy.

“Well, I should say you look pretty much at home,” he grinned. “But then you have a faculty of landing on your feet. And how’s Betty tonight? Thought I’d find you girls in a tight fix and here you are – getting up a banquet. Terry Walters was over at my house when you rang up, so he came with me. He’s outside, playing second line defense. All sereno here, I take it?”

“Quiet enough now,” Dorothy admitted, “though it was a bit hectic, to say the least, a while back. Call Terry in, will you? I’m going to do some scrambled eggs and bacon now.”

She reached for a bowl and began to crack eggs and break them into it. Bill stuck his head out the door and whistled.

A moment later, a heavy set, round faced lad of sixteen made his appearance in the doorway. Under his arm he carried a repeating rifle.

“H’lo, everybody,” he breezed, resting his rifle against the wall. “This is some surprise, – Bill and I were all set to play the heavy heroes and we find you making fudge!”

“Not fudge,” corrected Betty. “Honest-to-goodness food! Dorothy and I haven’t had a single thing to eat since lunch, except a lettuce sandwich and some cake at Helen Ritchie’s tea over at Peekskill this afternoon. We’re getting supper now.”

“We?” Dorothy’s tone was richly sarcastic. “Then, old dear, suppose you do some of the getting. I think I heard the front door shut just now, so that means that old Mr. Lewis has shoved off. You can go into the dining room and set the table. – Bill, you’re a good cook – how about starting the coffee? Terry, be a sport and cut some bread – you might toast it while you’re about it!”

“Whew! – some efficiency expert!” Terry winked at Bill. “Where do they keep the bread box in this house, anyway?”

“Barks her orders like a C.P.O. doesn’t she?” laughed Bill, opening the coffee tin. Then he drew forth a wax-paper wrapped loaf from an enameled container, held it up: “Here’s your bread, Terry – catch!”

The door from the dining room swung open and George came in.

“Well, George!” Dorothy turned to the others. “Here is our host,” she explained and introduced him all round.

“It’s certainly white of you fellows to hustle over here,” he said as he shook hands. “I appreciate it.”

“Oh, don’t mention it,” grinned Bill. “We seem to be rather late for the excitement.”

“Well, if it hadn’t been for Betty and Dorothy – ” began George.

“You’d have pulled yourself out all right,” interrupted the latter young lady. “Look here, supper’s nearly ready, and since I’ve set everybody else to work, suppose I give you a job, too? Take Betty into the dining room and show her how to set the table, and you’ll be a fine help.”

“Say, it’s great, the way you’ve pitched in here – did you have a hard time finding things?”

“No, not at all. Except – ” here Dorothy looked stern, “I don’t approve of your housekeeping methods – I had to scour the frying pan twice, sir, do you realize that?”

George hung his head. “Gee, I guess I’m pretty careless, but – ”

The cook giggled: “Mercy, you look downcast. I was only kidding, George. I think you’re a fine housekeeper, honestly, I do. Now you get a wiggle on with the table, please. These eggs are nearly finished. They’ll be ruined if we have to wait.”

When the two had disappeared, Dorothy dished the scrambled eggs into a warm plate and turned to Bill and Terry.

“He thinks Betty ran this job,” she informed them. “They’ve got a crush on each other, I guess. So don’t put him wise, will you?”

“Mum’s the word,” smiled Bill, while Terry nodded. “Far be it from me to mess up love’s young dream.”

“Don’t be silly,” retorted Dorothy. “But you know, Betty’s a darling. I had to be terribly cross with her all the time, just to keep her bucked up. But she’s my best friend and I’m crazy about her.”

“She is nervous and high-strung, I know,” supplemented Terry. “I’ll bet you had a sweet time with her.”

“Not so bad. Have you boys had supper?”

“Oh, yes, some time ago,” answered Bill.

“That’s good. I didn’t want to use up all George’s food. I’ll let you have some coffee, though – that is, if you’re good and don’t kid those two in the other room.”

“Cross-my-heart-hope-to-die-if-I-do.” Bill’s face was solemn.

“Likewise me,” declaimed Terry. “I must have my coffee.”

“Table’s set,” announced Betty, popping in to the kitchen, closely followed by George.

“Eggs are finished and the bacon’s fried,” returned Dorothy. “How about the coffee, Bill?”

“Perfect – though I sez so.”

“And the toast!” Terry was busy buttering the last slice. “You know, lovers used to write sonnets on their lady’s eyebrows – now, if they’d seen this toast!”

Dorothy shook her head at him. “That will be about all from you. Come along, all of you – everything smells so good, and I’m simply ravenous.”

It was a merry party that gathered about the old mahogany dining table. Bill began by teasing Dorothy about her lack of foresight that sent her up on a flight without enough gas. She returned his banter with interest: the others joined in and for a time everybody was wisecracking back and forth.

George was the first to bring the conversation back to current events.

“I don’t know Mr. Lewis very well,” he replied in answer to a question of Betty’s. “He was a friend of my father’s – at least father had business dealings with him. I thought I’d never get rid of the old boy tonight.”

“Did you find the book he wanted?” asked Dorothy. “Jones’ Aircraft Power Plants, wasn’t it?”

“Some book, too!” affirmed Bill. “Have you read it, Conway?”

“Didn’t know I owned it. The book – in fact, the whole library, was my father’s. About all he saved from the wreck. When I couldn’t find the book for old Lewis, what do you think he said?”

“‘Listen!’” Dorothy’s voice mimicked perfectly the old gentleman’s querulous tones. Everyone burst into laughter.

“Yes, he said that,” George told her, “and a whole lot more.”

“I hate riddles,” cried Betty. “Do tell us – ”

“Why, he wanted to buy the entire library – and when I turned him down, he made me an offer on the house providing entire contents went with it!”

Betty laughed. “A good low price, I’ll bet. Mr. Lewis is a terrible old skinflint.”

“I thought so, too, until he made me this offer.”

“Do you mind saying how much?” Dorothy never hesitated to come to the point.

“Twenty-five thousand dollars!”

“Seems like a lot of money to me!” was Bill’s comment.

“A lot of money! I should say so.” George cried excitedly. “Why, this place isn’t worth more than eight – possibly ten thousand dollars at the outside.”

“I smell a rat,” said Terry, “or to put it more politely, the old boy’s offer has something doggoned stinking crooked mixed up in it.”

“To add to our cultured brother’s oratory,” said Bill, “There certainly seems to be something pretty darned putrid in the kingdom of Denmark!”

“A whole lot nearer home, if you ask me,” broke in Dorothy. – “That old man – ”

“Just a moment,” begged Bill. “Your deductions, Miss Dixon, are always noteworthy. In fact, at times, the press of our glorious country has frequently referred to you as Miss Sherlock Holmes, but – ”

“Cut the comedy, Bill!” broke in the object of this effusion. “What is it you’re driving at?”

“Simply, as I was saying when so rudely interrupted, that your deductions and ideas on this business may be Aland a yard wide, but except for what you shot at me over the telephone, both Terry and I are wading about in a thick pea soup fog, so to speak. Suppose you give us your account of these mysterious happenings. That should put us ‘hep’ to the situation, and then George can tell us his end of the story, why he got tied up by these blokes and all that.”

George did not appear cheerful. “But I don’t know – ” he protested. “Haven’t the slightest idea.”

“So Dorothy said over the phone. But perhaps if you start far enough back – give us the story of your life, as it were – we may be able to dig out a motive.”

“At times you show positively human intelligence, Bill!” Dorothy yawned, without apology. “Well, here goes! Maybe if Bill will let me get a few words in edgewise, I may forget I’m so sleepy!”