ndows, and after it came a cold draft of air caused by
the suction of the cars. Henrietta closed the window and returned to the
table.

Then I answered her question: "Well, that depends upon what you mean by
gentleman-friend," I said.

"I mean just what I said," replied Henrietta, sliding an egg upon her
plate and passing the remaining one to me. "I mean a _special_
gentleman-friend."

"Well, no; I guess I haven't. I used to know lots of boys in the country
where I lived, but there isn't one of them I could call my special
gentleman-friend, and I don't know any men here." I uttered this speech
carefully, so as not to imply any criticism of Henrietta's use of the
expression "gentleman-friend," nor to call down upon my own head her
criticism for using any other than the box-factory vernacular in
discussing these delicate amatory affairs.

"Oh, go and tell that to your grandmother!" she retorted, with a sly
little laugh. "Don't none of the girls there have gentlemen-friends, or
is farmers so different that they never stand gentlemen-friends to
them?"

"Oh, dear me, yes!" I answered hastily, trying to avoid the unpleasant
_double entendre_, and choosing to accept it in its strictly explicit
phase. "Why, certainly, the girls get married there every day. There are
hardly any old maids in my part of the country. They get engaged almost
as soon as they are out of short dresses, and the first thing you know,
they are married and raising families." Then I added, "but have you got
a gentleman-friend yourself?"

"Yep," she answered, nodding and pouring out the coffee; "I have a very
particular gentleman-friend what's been keeping company with me for
nearly a year, off and on."

"Oh!" I cried, eager to turn the conversation toward Henrietta's
personal affairs instead of my own, which I felt she completely
misconstrued. "Do tell me about him; what is his name--and are you
engaged to him yet?"

"My! ain't you fresh, though?" she said; but there was cordiality in the
rebuff. "I met him at the mission where I teach Sundays," she went on.
"He's brother Mason, and he's the Sunday-school superintendent. He give
me all that perfume on the mantel," and she pointed a dripping knife
toward the row of empty bottles.

"Why, is he in the perfumery business?" I asked innocently, my eyes
ranging over the heterogeneous collection on the mantel. Henrietta took
the remark as exceedingly funny, for she immediately fell into a
paroxysm of t