orge! he would suggest it to her!

He got up with alacrity, cheerful immediately.

She was not on the veranda and Miss Eyester was of the opinion that she
had gone to her room to take her tonic.

"I have turned the shoulder, Wallie." Mrs. Appel held up the sweater
triumphantly.

"That's good," said Wallie, feeling uncomfortable with Miss Spenceley
within hearing.

"Wallie," Mrs. Stott called to him, "will you give me the address of
that milliner whose hats you said you liked particularly? Somewhere on
Walnut, wasn't it?"

"Sixteenth and Walnut," Wallie replied, shortly.

"What do you think I'm doing, Wallie?"

"I can't imagine, Mrs. Budlong."

"I'm rolling!"

"Rolling?"

"To reduce. C. D. says I look like a cement-mixer in action."

Wallie was annoyed by the confidence.

Miss Gaskett beckoned him.

"Have you seen Cutie, Wallie?"

"No," curtly.

"When I called her this morning she looked at me with eyes like saucers
and simply _tore_ into the bushes. Do you suppose anybody has abused
her?"

Mr. Cone, who was standing in the doorway, went back to his desk
hastily.

"I'm not in her confidence," said Wallie with so much sarcasm that they
all looked at him.

Miss Spenceley was talking to Mr. Appel, who was listening so
attentively that Wallie wondered what she was saying. They were sitting
close to the window of the reception room and it occurred to Wallie that
there would be no harm in stepping inside and gratifying his curiosity.
The conversation was not of a private nature and in other circumstances
he would have joined them, so, on his way to the elevator to find his
aunt, he paused a moment to hear what the girl was saying.

Since she was speaking emphatically and a lace curtain was the only
barrier, Wallie found out without difficulty:

"I have no use for a squaw-man."

"You mean," Mr. Appel interrogated, "a white man who marries an Indian
woman?"

"Not necessarily. I mean a man who permits a woman to support him
without making any effort on his part to do a man's work. He may be an
Adonis and gifted to the point of genius, but I have no respect for him.
He----"

Wallie did not linger. He remembered the ancient adage, and while he did
not consider himself an eavesdropper or believe that Miss Spenceley
meant anything personal, nevertheless the shoe fit to such a nicety that
he hurried to the elevator, his step accelerated by the same sense of
guilt that had sent Mr. Cone scuttling to h