e--we might reduce it."

"We must encourage imports," said the Gutter Pup firmly.

And the chorus came full mouthed:

"Sure!"

The Millionaire Baby received three more boxes--that is, he received
the limited portion that a paternal government allowed him. Then,
being chastened, he took a despicable revenge--he stopped the supply.

"Well, it was sweet while it lasted," said Dennis regretfully.

"We've stopped toadyism in the House," said Stover virtuously. "We
have eliminated the influence of money."

"That is praiseworthy, but it doesn't fill me with enthusiasm."

"Dink," said the Tennessee Shad, "I must say I consider this one of
your few failures. You're a great administrator, but you don't
understand the theory of taxation."

"I don't, eh? Well, what is the theory?"

"The theory of taxation," said the Tennessee Shad, "is to soak the
taxed all they'll stand for, but to leave them just enough, so they'll
come again."

XXIV

No sooner had Mr. John H. Stover returned from the serious
developments of the summer, arranged his new possessions and brought
forward the photograph of Miss McCarty to a position on the edge of
his bureau, where he could turn to it the last thing at night and
again behold it with his waiting glance, than a horrible coincidence
appeared.

Among the festive decorations that made the corporate home of Dink and
the Tennessee Shad a place to visit and admire was, as has been
related, a smashing poster of a ballet dancer in the costume of an
amazon parader. Up to now Dink had shared the just pride of the
Tennessee Shad in this rakish exhibit that somehow gave the possessor
the reputation of having an acquaintance with stage entrances. But on
the second morning when his faithful glance turned to the protecting
presence of Miss McCarty resting among the brushes, it paused a moment
on the representative of the American dramatic profession, who was
coquettishly trying to conceal one foot behind her ear.

Then he sat bolt upright with a start. By some strange perversion of
the fate that delights in torturing lovers, the features of the
immodestly clothed amazon bore the most startling resemblance to that
paragon of celestial purity, Miss Josephine McCarty.

The more he gazed the more astounding was the impression. He gazed and
then he did not gaze at all--it seemed like a profanation. The
resemblance, once perceived, positively haunted him; stand where he
might his eyes could see