, and said:

"Gee whiz! Am I on the Cat? Because if so it is dead. It moves not."

"It might be a Revolver," I said, in a calm voice. "There was one lying
around somwhere."

So he got up and observed: "I have conscientous scruples against sitting
on a poor, unprotected gun, Bab." He then picked it up and it went off,
but did no harm except to put a hole in his hat which was on the floor.

"Now see here, Bab," he observed, looking angry, because it was a new
one--the hat. "I know you, and I strongly suspect you put that Gun
there. And no blue eyes and white frock will make me think otherwise.
And if so, why?"

"I am alone a good deal, Carter," I said, in a wistfull manner, "as my
natural protecters are usualy enjoying the flesh pots of Egypt. So it is
natural that I should wish to be at least fortified against trouble."

HE THEN PUT THE REVOLVER IN HIS POCKET, and remarked that he was all
the protecter I needed, and that the flesh pots only seemed desirable
because I was not yet out. But that once out I would find them full of
indigestion, headaches, and heartburn.

"This being grown-up is a sort of Promised Land," he said, "and it is
always just over the edge of the World. You'll never be as nice again,
Bab, as you are just now. And because you are still a little girl,
although `plited,' I am going to kiss the tip of your ear, which even
the lady who ansers letters in the newspapers could not object to, and
send you up to bed."

So he bent over and kissed the tip of my ear, which I considered not
a sentamental spot and therfore not to be fussy about. And I had to
pretend to go up to my chamber.

I was in a state of great trepidation as I entered my Residense, because
how was I to capture my prey unless armed to the teeth? Little did
Carter Brooks think that he carried in his pocket, not a Revolver or at
least not merely, but my entire future.

However, I am not one to give up, and beyond a few tears of weakness,
I did not give way. In a half hour or so I heard Carter Brooks asking
George for a whisky and soda and a suit of father's pajamas, and I knew
that, ere long, he would be

In pleasing Dreams and slumbers light.
--Scott.

Would or would he not bolt his door? On this hung, in the Biblical
phraze, all the law and the profits.

He did not. Crouching in my Chamber I saw the light over his transom
become blackness, and soon after, on opening his door and speaking
his name softly, there was no