just those
occasional humorous suggestions that keep me keyed so heroically up to
the point where I'm actually infuriated if you even suggest that I
might be getting really interested in this mysterious Miss Molly! You
haven't said a single sentimental thing about her that I haven't
scoffed at--now have you?"

"N--o," acknowledged the Doctor. "I can see that you've covered your
retreat all right. Even if the author of these letters should turn out
to be a one-legged veteran of the War of 1812, you still could say, 'I
told you so'. But all the same, I'll wager that you'd gladly give a
hundred dollars, cash down, if you could only go ahead and prove the
little girl's actual existence."

Stanton's shoulders squared suddenly but his mouth retained at least a
faint vestige of its original smile.

"You mistake the situation entirely," he said. "It's the little girl's
non-existence that I am most anxious to prove."

Then utterly without reproach or interference, he reached over and
grabbed a forbidden cigar from the Doctor's cigar case, and lighted
it, and retreated as far as possible into the gray film of smoke.

It was minutes and minutes before either man spoke again. Then at last
after much crossing and re-crossing of his knees the Doctor asked
drawlingly, "And when is it that you and Cornelia are planning to be
married?"

"Next April," said Stanton briefly.

"U--m--m," said the Doctor. After a few more minutes he said,
"U--m--m," again.

[Illustration: "Maybe she is--'colored,'" he volunteered at last]

The second "U--m--m" seemed to irritate Stanton unduly. "Is it your
head that's spinning round?" he asked tersely. "You sound like a Dutch
top!"

The Doctor raised his hands cautiously to his forehead. "Your story
does make me feel a little bit giddy," he acknowledged. Then with
sudden intensity, "Stanton, you're playing a dangerous game for an
engaged man. Cut it out, I say!"

"Cut what out?" said Stanton stubbornly.

The Doctor pointed exasperatedly towards the big box of letters. "Cut
those out," he said. "A sentimental correspondence with a girl
who's--more interesting than your fiancee!"

"W-h-e-w!" growled Stanton, "I'll hardly stand for that statement."

"Well, then lie down for it," taunted the Doctor. "Keep right on being
sick and worried and--." Peremptorily he reached out both hands
towards the box. "Here!" he insisted. "Let's dump the whole
mischievous nonsense into the fire and burn it up!"