The Fixer.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XLVIII, Issue 2, 10 July 1912, Page 42

The Fixer.

By

PORTER EMERSON BROWON.

ITH hi* heel UuDaivler kivketl a #4 I pile »>f books* from a corner 11JL of the table, and resting his feet upon the spot thus ma«ie vacant lay kick luxuriously i» his chair, and with head on one side and fingertips together. let hi* gaze re-t in cold. <iitival judgment upon the man before him. “Stop fussing with that matchbox,” commanded Hollander, “and sit down.’’ Kendall, impatiently, with the manner pf a man to whom it makes but lit tie difference where he is or what he does, G.**ed the little gold box amid a heap of clutter on the table and -dumped into a heavy leather chair opposite that of t»;x friend. "Nou let rue h»«»k at y»un tongue, ’’ v dercd Hollander. The other snorted impatiently. "Y«ui think you’re funny.’* he *aid, pj-vi'hly. “bin you’re only tireome. Win. there-’* notlung the matter, wii i me ex.-ept that I’m a bit off my feed, and tired of doing the same old things vy«*i and oxer again. And here you —’’ Hollander interrupted him with an imperioi:- wave of the b.and. “Ajiem!” He ..eared hi* throat impressively. “Tht diagnosis is ready. 1. « d Dr. Hollander. hiving painstaking.y and thoroughly investigated your case in ail its pluiM-s. am at ieng:h readv io speak. < o list! “Ya t.’’ .with jet added erudition, “are offering from an uuihu.*’. complaint. I'o us *avant< it i* known relentinc.uly as «-ollyw«»bhles < xtraord nar en<*. In your »-ase it has been indo-, ed by a condition of megahrthis that you inherited from your parents and aggravated by the ex- «•<■** A<- non:i\-»rio:i*ne*s of \our mode oi life. **T» ro.lu e the diagnosis to terms > si; , y. ■ mind i* able to comprehend, •wir pathway through life is too well macadamised and landscape gardened. You haven't enough trouble. Y«»u have” t« o much money h»r the size of yo;ir. brain. Your *enf»e »u‘ appreciation is <«> atrophied that it annot perfdnn it*' f m * ion*. and your sense of gratitude •ssjfied beyond ’»el;ef. Instead »>f being »n your knee* thanking a prodigal »ax»-n f.r the _ i* it has *•» indiscrir ,t» :. t« y *lowered upon you. you’re ly ng r ha, k. wailing l»e.-ause you have »o many thing* to ’oe thankful for that \«».i • an’t get round without tripping ever them. It take* a map of brains to be rich You’re mentally upholstered for an in -onie of about twenty-two dollar* a month and your board. “But fear not. The -.nv ;* at hand; tnd that < ;r.e is one U|>oii which all of u* *avant* *tand agreed. You need i counter irritant j and that “means-a wife. Marry. That is my advice. Marry. Em I feme poor. unfortunate girl vvho*o parenta are not overparticular, awl lead her to the altar, or the alderman, and there promi*e a lot of things that you c< uldn’t make go«ul on to *ave your life. “That’* what you need—a wife. Ke-memU-r. we appreciate thing.*—desirable thing*, of course —in this wodd only for their infrequency or difficulty of obtaining. Applying thi* syllogism, the single man. who can get what he wants when he want* it. appreciates nothing. But the married man. who has to take what he van get when lie < an get it, appreciates everything. “It is only the married man who appreciates hi* lub. He Jut* a home wrh whkh to compare it. Only the married >iar. rgpii. iates his home. He has a club with which to compare it. The single man ha* no home, but only a duh; and be has no standard of comparison, which Is ataokitely essential to appreciation. <>h. it takes mentality to b*- a bachelor; for the bj -clor ha- •.o-tivr by imaginary atandarl*. No » 1 have the mental qualification* iip.r-.Nji. therefore I am in >iy b.srh-lvrhcod perfectly and supremely contented. You haven’t; heme. it is jicce**aiy that you *boahl have those standard* ron< retely before you. 1 think that covers vaae. Fixe hundred, plMne.’’ Kendal gaz»<l at b.ru nrarily. ■'l* that .Ilf hr queried, resignedly. "For the precent, yen.”

"Thank th' Lord,” exelaimerl Kendall, fervently. He viewed his friend with the simulation of great admiration. “Whas an ornament you would make to tinSenate!” he said. “Anyone who enn talk as rnueh, and say as little, as you can has no business to be voirseating ais lights under the bushel of private i f-'. Yon owe your talents to your country.” •‘Thank you,” returned Hollander, modestly. “But you may not evade tieissue through subtle -littery. Meet yourself face to face. You're in a bfid way. What are you going to do about si?” Kendall shook his head. “Nothing,” he returned. “How ean 1? Why, even if I eould find a girl I wanted to marry.' it's a thousand to one she. wouldn't want to marry me. 1 never saw one yet.” "That you would marry, or that would marry voa?”

“That I would marry. Modesty tor■bids my answering your other question.” “But there are so many girls,” said Hollander, “that surely there must be one who would be willing to marry you.” “Then fiml her,” returned Kendall, crossly, “and don’t talk so mir-h about it.” “Anil if 1 do’” Kendall shrugged his shoulders. “I'm not averse to marriage as an institution,” he .aid. “In fact, 1 think it’s an extremely good thing, e-pe ially for our descendants. Fiml a girl that I will want to marry and that will want to marry me and I'll be only too g'.a.l to comply with your wishes.” -Of rourses you have certain aleas. certain sp -ili<ation«, *o to .peak. a< to what the girl most be like.” slid Hollander, tentatively. "I never thought mu-h aln-ut it," re n! vol the other. “Then think now.” "I'm- ah — well—oh. this is a silly b i-r ne««. What’s the use of my sitting here talking tike an asst” said Kendall, rmpatiently. “Kven an ass ought to exercise its brain on-’e in a while.” returned Hollander. “Kh—she must be tall and lithe

and graceful, good figure, and all that —>fi of thing, of course, eh?” he asked. “I suppose so.” returned Kendall. “Yes. of -eosirse she. would have to be that sort.” "Blonde or brunette?” queried Hollander. “Brunette," Kendall returned, less apathetically "Black hair, you know, and lots of it: but none of this Marcel and puff business, though it must be naturally- wavy, and just a bit rebelHollander nodded. “Eyes?” he asked. “Brown. Deep, frank. expressive -brown, with long lashes and arehol brows.” “Thin, aquiline, patrician: with delicately moulded nostrils.” "Teeth? Oh—ah—white and even and glistening la-tween red. curved lips, of course,” he answered him«elf. Kendall inclined his head. “Rlght-O.” he agreed. "What else?” a-ked Hollander.

“I'm—ah—well, she must have a softspeaking voire: and. she must be able to sing, and to sing well: and to play, ami to play well: she must of course be superlatively attractive as to manners, ami as to mannerisms; of good family; travelled; of unexceptional taste in

dress, a girl who doesn’t have to depend upon frills and feathers and flounees to make herself appear well, but who is beautiful in spite of, and not because of, the druggist, the modiste, and the milliner. And she must be gentle, affectionate, thoughtful, honest, and of compelling fascinating personality.” •'Money?” “Oh, I don’t -are about that. As you so kindly observed. I now have an income that is beyond my mentality. So doubtless it were as well to have her subtract from it as to add to it.” “Anything else!” “I don't think of anything.” returned Kendall, thoughtfully. And then: “Oh, ye-! she must of eour-e love umu aud 1 mii-t Jove her." Hollander nodded. Of course," he agreed. “But 1 say,” said Kendall. You don't really mean—you really have no serious idea of starting out on any «ueh wild goose hunt as this, have you?' “You're not complimentary to your future wife,” reproached Hollander. “I ■■ertainly do mean to start out on this wild-wife chase; and I mean to find her, too. You don't suppose I'd see a lifelong friend die of the jimbickiea foi want of

a little effort oiymy part, do you T Why, the girl'e as good as found already!” “I'd like to bet you live thousand ta a pint of peanuts that she isn’t,” asserted Kendal), “and, furthermore, never will be.”

“You’re too generous,” returned Hollander. “I'll take your bet. even money.” Kendall waved a protesting palm. "J'm no robber of feeble-minded children,” he declared, loftily. "If your poor old guardian could know of your making any sueh proposition in aurora-borealia finance as this, he'd turn over in hia grave like a squirrel in a cage. I'll give you ten to one, and not a cent better— I mean worse.”

“Well,” retorted Hollander, “it’s just a matter of form, anyway. Well make the time one month; though I don't anticipate that I shall need a fourth oJ that. Why, look at the girls there are in New Y’ork! All one needs is a little patience and energy, and a certain amount of system. It’ll l*e like taking spectacles away from old ladies.’ “And when, may I ask." queried Kendail, ironically, "will the ceremony oe-

“Ob. I'll tell you in plenty of time to prepare your trousseau.” replied Hollander. His eyes happened to turn to the broad window through which one might catch a glimpse of the green verdure of the Park, and beyond a little stretch of the bridle path, dun against the bright blue of the reservoir.

With a little exclamation of excitement he leaped from his chair. "By jinks!" he exclaimed, “that looks like her now!” And butting the startled Kendall, w ho likewise had risen, over his chair and into the corner, he rushed through the doer and was gone.

Hashing across the avenue and leaping the Park wall, Hollander reached the bridle path just in time to get in the way of a galloping thoroughbred that bore upon its back a stout, natty youth, who site-seeded in pulling his mount to its haunches liarely in time to save the ardent and excited Hollander from being ridden down. “What th' Billy Mazes’” began the youth on the Kentucky gelding. “My great suffering Aunt Maria! Why don't you look where you're going, you big— Whoa, there! Easy, now, pony!” A moment of restoring to a pbteid frame of mind hi- hysterical horse, and the young man turned his eves again upon Hollander: this time with recognition. “Well. I'll be dinged!” he exdaime-1 “So it's you, is it?” ■ ‘ Yes : it's 1,” returned Hollander. “Well, what in Sam Hill——” “You talk too much, Tubby,” interrupted Hollander, curtly. “Get down off that horse. I need it.” “Well, w'-ia" d' yer know about that?” queried the amazed cavalier. “ ’Get down off that horse: I need it.' he says to me. just like that. Jlv horse, too! Well, w'na' -F yer know -” “Conte, hnrry up. now,'’ admonished Hollander. “I can’t wait here all day.” "Well, von don't need any nerve stimulant," opined the horseman, positively. “I may as well tell you that I'm out for a little afternoon merry-go-round, and I don't propo-e to lend my Blue Grass pride to every pampered,, potheadetl disturber of the peace that thinks ’? wants to do a Wild-West speciality', you want a bonee. go to a livery stable.”

Across the reservoir, beyond the expanse of glittering water, there couid l-e seen against the afternoon sun the fig > e of a girl upon a clean-limbed sorrel.

Hollander gl.ineed quickly at her. and yet more qniekly at the man above him. He spoke no word. He merely grabbed the cavalier by one whipeorded leg with his left hand and gave it a quick yank, at the same time catching the bridle u in his right; whereat the eavalier, who was not in the least anticipating any

such forceful attentions, described a neat arc around the side of his horse, an-l ere he had time to sit up and ask. weak surprise: “Wba’d' yer know about that!” Hollander, upen the Kentudy gelding, was tearing down the bri l path with his silk hat in his hand and bis fro-k coat streaming ont behind.

On the west side of the Park, halfway down, where the path wind* under * little brivlge that is usually thii-kly tooned with liaby carriages. Hollander Overtook the girl whom he was pursui’ ?- And at the same place three mounted police and seventeen volunteer life sat ere overtook Hollander. So that it was nos until after half a mile of very painstaking ami impatient explanation th" he really bad a chance to look at het closely.

She was all, and usore, than his glimpM

from Kendall's window had led him to believe. Her hair, beneatth the little cocked hat, iva.s dark and w ilful and curlel only by nature's Finger-. She had dark eves, glorious eyes, and a thin, aquiline. •Kitrician nose, beneath which curved in a fascinating, tantalising how the reddest of lip* which, parted, allowed one to see white even little teeth. And her habit showed her lithe, perfectly moulded figure to positive bewildering advantage. Hollander reined his big, hard-mouthed welding down to a slow trot, and cogitated.

They were rapily nearing the Fifth Avenue and Fifty ninth Street entrance. It was growing late. The chances were that she had finished her ride, and was on her way -back to her groom. In •another minute it would be too late for Inm to ?(>eak to her. And Hollander’s convolutions churned wildly in an effort to evolve some method by which he might approach her diplomatically,

plausibly. When you have but a moment in which to think of something to say. that something almost invariably eludes you. It

is always the next morning that the oratorical gems that you might- have uttered come teeming to your mind in provoking, sneering, exasperating hordes.

So it was with Hollander. His mind gave him no fruit of its labours. And at last, in frantic despair for the entrance was now close at hand, he dug

his heels into the big gelding's flanks and drew up beside her. "I beg your pardon," he said, confusedly. raising his silk hat the while, "but—” And there he stuck. ‘Are you speaking to me?" she asked in surprise that quickly turned to coldness. Her voice was low and musical, and quite beyond the fondest speeiffeatlonal hope. "I was trying ." returned Hollander. ‘Rut I didn’t get al-.mg very we'd, did I?" He laughed; ai: 1 then was sorry rliat he hadn’t kept silent. "You see.” F.e went on, weakly, "I wanted to talk with you.: and I tried to think of some ■ ay to approach you diplomatically and conventionally. tried so hard to think that the inside of my head feel- like a s rambled egg. I know I’m awfully : de. vinpardonably . ill-bred." lie rushed on. "But it’s a very vita! matter, you know; and I though that under the . reiunstan.es you might forgive me. I'm a gentleman.-you know; at least. I was born that -way. and I’ve tried to stay as near like one as I was able, so I didn t- want- to follow you home like one of those private defectives that hide in people’s sideboards and climb up their lire escapes, you know. And I knew that i: I let you get away from me this time I might never be able to find you again. Fo I knocked a friend of mine off his ,'iorse and—well, here I am," he finished, 1 unely. "lou are rude,’’ she said coldly. "Very'." "Oil. I know it,” he agreed, earnestly. ‘ I’m worse than that. I ought to have n y head punched, and maybe I’ll get it ■'■Be if you have a brother. But it’s, all ' r Kendall’s sake, you know. He’s a _ illy chap, one of the best friends a l.dow ever had: and he’s got the grumps, vhat in old days they used to call the - .1 believe. Ami it’s all be.au.-c . - g ■ too much money an.l not enough -3 do. and no girl friends at all; and a i in ought not to live entirely apart. om women, you know, especially when ea~ no mother nor sisters nor cousins. - y> somewhere —I don't remember 7 ■ " j ;, 'i where—Shakespeare or the l-le or some plate like that—that it -c’i t a good scheme for a chap to live r one. And Ken I say. here we nre almost at your entrance. And there's 3 'tir groom waiting, i-n’t he. Won’t you * lrn back with me, and go halfway Hiound again? I know it’s a terrible ■ mig for me to ask. Whv. vou don’t even know who I am. But" I’ll tell you -'''•v. ton know. I'm Hollander—John - lanteith Hollander. The Gramercy Kirk Hollanders, you know. My greatf 1 ■ grandfather was an awful old robi " r ' .^‘7' v '' heard of him. perhaps* His mte - in hi.-forie-. Had a trading ] M at I ties or Schenectady or Rochester ’ . somewhere 'and used to swan wood al- ’ 1 ("I with the Indian- for fur and stuff. ; at won t you turn and make another 'll’ 1 with me? Isn't it late. Of course s atrocious. lint I’ll throw ‘ away and people won’t notice . '. ‘r ."" n ' t y«m. plea-e?" There was ■ ' '"finite be-e.i-liing in his grav eyes. tue girl reined in her little'sorrel in frank doubt. .1 I' 0 ?."-'.' f'‘t? >' most extraordinary,” •t lll I’fetty |H-rplexity. "I know I ««Rht not to. Rut— ’ ? . • Hu-re j, n t a |.j, (1 f , iarm ; n V oue doT m, i.e proteefod. " Of eodrse, H’»

unconventional, and all that; but there’s no harm, I’m sure. If people see us, they’ll think we know each other of course, and won’t suspect the slightest impropriety. I’m sure I know a lot of people. And it might easily have been that I would have known you if I hadn't been so unlucky.”

"I have a brother," began the girl, thoughtfully. ” W ell, send him around to-morrow,’’ suggested Hollander. “ I won't care what he does to me. By Jove, it’ll be a pleasure to let him disfigure me for life. It’s worth it!”

"I didn't mean that," smiled the girl. "I meant only that possibly you might know him. He belongs to lots of clubs; and he went to Yale.” "What class was he in?” "Nineteen Hundred."

"Of course 1 know him!" exclaimed Hollander delightedly. " And surelv that makes it all right. Not the most carping disciple of Mrs. Grundy could .-sly anything against your riding in the park with an old college classmate of your brother. Why, that’s propriety personified!" " But you don’t know who my brother is," protested the girl. ”1 know that no matter who he is. he was my chum. If he weren’t I’d go down to my lawyers to-morrow morning an.l make application to have a guardian appointed. You will ride around again with me, won t you? Surely, your brother and I having been such fast friends for so long By Jove, that’s awfully good of you. I don’t know how to thank you!" They rode for a moment in silence through the leafy arches of the trees. " You were -peaking of a friend Of yours, a Mr. Kendall. I think vou -aid." "•’li. yes! By Jove, I’d forgotten all alKiut him. you know! Well. Kendalls a bully fellow. Rich as mud—of a fine family—lielotigs to all the club-, and could shine in society only he doesn’t want to. I rag linn a lot about being scantily furnished mentally. Tint i rally he’s" m- st nnu-ually intelligent and bniinv an I of -plendid principles; altogether "the kind of a man you won’t find in many a long day'- hunt. If only an all-wise Providence had taken his money awav from him. ; lie .would have amounted to something. But it didn't. So he doesn’t amount to any mere tiian the re-t of U-. But tiieres this difference lietween K.-n and 'ln- general.run'of chaps. Tfic-lat-ter .lon t t'lre whether: they amiik'nt to. anything or not. ami g-t akmg peffeeily • ntentedly in a mounting to iibtl’ing. Ken doesn t. Although lie doesn’t "Iknoiv that it’s unused prowess and iinf3Fmi>l ambition that are ailing him. it really is. And flu- only thing that will du him any good is to give him an incentive. Ability without incentive is no good; as incentive without ability is likewise. "Now." he went on, " I’ve figured it out that there are two great incentives for the normal man. The first is necessity; the second i- the loving of a good woman, for a man will work twice a- hard for the ■woman he loves as for the woman that loves him. Now necessity never can be Ken’- incentive. So it must be the loving of a woman. That’- why I did .1 Paul Revere’- ride after you. Ycu’re going to Ist him love you.” Sh-- looked up in -tai tied surpri-e. " What!" -he cried, in amazem.-nt. He nodded coolly. “ Yes," lie returned. " Fiji must let liim love you. Then you must wake him up and sic him at some big thing. Make liim an honest politician, or an honourable business man, or -some other kind of a curiosity; the Lord know- we need ’em badly enough these day-. That’s all he needs—to be taken in hand by some one capable of doing it. He’s like a motor without a driver, cutting circles all over the lawn, with engine racing and clutch slipping. Get at the wheel and control; and it’ll save him and won’t hurt you." For a moment -lie did not reply. " But what makes you think I could do this?" she asked at length. “ I don’t tliink. I know." " But to assume that he would wo-.i'd —love me!” “ If he didn’t, I’d punch hi- head." She smiled. "That wouldn’t benefit him any." "It would me. though.’’ be return d. “A lot." "It’s very strange," she -ai>! at length, thoughtfully. "Most strange." "I’ll bring him around some time," he suggested. "What i- your day?" "Friday afternoon-. I’m at home.” "Next Friday, then," be decided. “ Good.” u But I—it’s too ab-urd. And it’s too ►—too dangerous. 1 really couldn’t iwomise —really. 1 don’t understand myself this afternoon. If anyone had told me that I should be doing as 1 am.-aad

saying what I am. and listening to whut I am—- But you’ve interested me very, very inueh. you know, and my curiosity-7 yes. you may bring him Friday, if you •wish. But I promise nothing." “Oh, that’s all right,” he replied. " I don’t want you to. Just let me bring him ground. That’s all I ask. Eh, by the way ’’ " I almost forgot that I don’t know who you are or where you live.” " I’m Priscilla Van Dyne.” "Van Dyne!" he cried. "Then yum brother is ” " Tom Van Dyne." " Not Tubby Vari Dyne!” She smiled assent. " Eh—you—eh—you didn’t notice anything. did you?" •• Why, no!" she said. "What?" '■ This horse I’m riding." Her eyes rested on the big gelding. "Why!” she exclaimed, with a little gasp. " ?t’s Hard Head!” He nodded. " I hope your brother ’ll be out when we call," he said. "He hit the bridle path an awful thump." Half an hour later a gloomy, brow-cor-rugated. fidgeting Kendall was interrupted by the whirling entrance of an excited, hatless, enthusiastic Hollander. ” Well." cried the latter, as he plumped himself into a chair and reached for a cigarette, " you might as well pay me now. By Jove. I ought to get a bonus! I’ve got the specifications beaten a mile!" " What have you been doing?" queried Kendall. " Look at your trousers, nran. Tliey’re covered with mud." " What care I for trousers?" asked Hollander. airily. " Why, my son. she’s a wonder; and if you don’t love her, and make love to her. you ought to swap that thing you wear instead of a brain tor an under done custard pie, and give something to boot be-ides, and furthermore congratulate yoursfilf for making th • trade of your career. Why, my boy. she’s —-he’s-—-he’s—" Words failed him. He ’could but -it with an expression of transeendant. admiring, excited, worshipful -adoration upon hi- handsome visage, the while pawing the air with mute but most expressive fingers. Have a lucid interval, won’t you?" re>|ue-;esl Kendall, impatiently. -What’it all about, anyway?" " Why, I’ve found her: that’s all; and we’re to’ go around to her house Friday 'afternoon- " The lofty clock in the corner of the room gave forth a bell-like chime and then struck six musical strokes. At the second. Hollander leaped io bis feet, and at the third he liad snatched Kendall’s hat from his man. who had just entered, bearing hi- master’s headgear, stick, and gloves. Pardon the petty larceny', old man. he said, hurriedly, "but I threw my cover at a squirrel; and it was all for-your sake, you know. Have a dinner engagement at seven-thirty und must go to the rooms and dress; and to-morrow away for three day.-; not back until Friday: so meet me that afternoon three o’clock, at the Scorpion—that’s near her place — and I’ll take you around to see. your future wife. v t ntil the-fateful day. then, my boy." and, in anotlu-r in-taut, they heard him de-eend ing the stairs, four steps at a time. It was on Friday afternoon, at quarter past five, that an aggrieved and unaccompanied and apologetic and abashed Hollander found himself making profuse, sincere, but confused apologies to a tall, dark-eyed, dark-haired girl. "Don’t understand it at all," he murmured, humbly, lugubriously. "Nothing like it happened before, I assure you. Told him distinctly when and where I’d meet him. But he wasn’t there. So I called up his rooms. Not there, either. Waited at the club until a few momentago and then came away, leaving word behind as to where you lived. Ashamed to death about it all, realty. There was -■■me confusion when I told him. and lie may have made some mistake. It’- not at al! like Kendall. Certainly mu-t b? sonic misunderstanding somewhere. Do hope it isn’t my fault. Never felt so humiliated and ashamed in my life, by Jove. More than sorry. Where’s your brother? I’d feel inueh lietter if he’d come in and punch my head: und then we could both go and punch Kendall’s. Really, it’- quite unforgivable- aplite. Don’t know how to ask yen to pardon me. But you’ll try, won’t yja? Maybe lie’s sick. By Jove, I never thought ok that! That’s it. He’s sick. 1 certainly do hope lie's sick—sick as the deme. Then I sha'n't be under the necessity of making him so when I find him.” The girl smiled.

"TVs not very flattering to me, is it?” she queried. "Oh. you can’t look at it that way. you know.” expostulated Hollander. “After he once sees you. he'll be cluttering up your front steps ant getting in the way of everybody, from the milkniau to the night watchman." A servant entered, silently "What is it. Mason?" queried the girl. The man handed Hollander a note. Hollander gazed at the girl, happily. "See!” he cried, with joyous relief. "I knew there was some good reason for his not coming. He’s sick, as I said; or some of his folks have died. Or something of the kind has happened. ’He's phoned the club and gotten my message. He’s sick, undoubtedly—probably in tho hospital. Poor chap! I’m sorry for al! the hard things I said about him; 1 honestly am, by Jove. If yoa had known Ken as long as I have, you’d be just as sure that only some vital thing would make him break an engagement. Yes. he must lie sick—very sick grippe, probably. Poor old chap!" The girl had nodded. "If you’ll permit,” said Hollander, tentatively, as he made ready t:> tear open the envelope. "Of course," she replied. - m really just as anxious as you I want to knpw whether I am to feel sorry or insulted. Open it, please." Quickly Hollander tore the end from the envelope and extracted therefrom a folded sheet of paper. Spreading this out, he bent his gaze upon it. Then he gasped, and rubbed his eyes vaguely, and gapped again. And helplessly, he handed the paper to th" girl. "You read it." ho said, weakly; •‘ami tell me see th • same things 1 do." She took the note from his hand and bent her dark eyes upon it. Then sud denly she burst forth into masi.’al meni meut. "Oh! ’.-he cried. "It’s to> funny!" and the red lips parted wide in hone-t. rippling. infectious laughter. "Don’t look at me like that! It’s too. too funny! An t to think " Laughter conquered words'; nod she let it have its full frai)k, delicious sway Hollander turiicl a» length to th", servant. "I- the Loy still there ' he demand.'l'. and aT an affirmative answer from the man. he left the room impetuouslvIn another minute, the boy. <a;> in hand and mirwtrained hair sticking iq» at uncompromising angles. .J I.efoi ■ him. "Hhere did you get this Hi>--- Ige cross-examined 11 oil? nder. "At th' Little t'hoich Around th’ < Hrnor.” replied the boy, sociably. “U ho gave it to you*” “A rywell guy who was down dvre g ttin’ himself married.” ‘ And what was the bride like?" ‘AU tuh th’ mustard,” returned the boy, enthusiastically. ’’Short- an’ kin I •»’ tat —not too fat. yuh know, jus’ kind •»’ wid a little an’ blue lamp-* an’ yaller hair, wid niore’n a million o’ them puff things on it, an* g»e! she ail dressed up like a horse.” Hollander asked no mon- for th ra was in his mind the Int ot ’Specifica lions” that he had s i carefully compile?. So without a word lie tende/el the boy a coin and returned to the still laughing girl. Suddenly there spread ovei his • > «n cut features an expression of profoun I, immense, enormous dis. every. ”By .Jove!’* he exclaimed, to himself. And to think 1 never thought of that before! And all the lime I was going to —Well, he said aloud, ”1 ant waiting.” ‘For what?” she queried. ’’For you to do your part.” he return <xi. “I was a good John Alden: the fact that I was working for a recreant Standish is nothing against me. 6*o as soon as you say yom line. I’ll do the best 1 can to iuak«* the proper answer.** Iler face was averted; and >he had stopped laughing. And — well, she didn’t >ay it. exactly, but there must have been'some reason for her brother’s remarking, when ho entered the room a moment later, qui'.e unexpectedly: ’’Now vha* d’ yer know about th it! First he stole my horse; and now he’s trying to steal my «i«ter! I guess I’d better go out in the din.ng room and I »ck up father and mother and the siher’”