hink of pasting. D-do anything else; cut out some strips.
I am so interested in watching p-paper hangers cut out things--"

"But I need the table for that, too----"

"No, you don't. You can't be a--a very skillful w-workman if you've got
to use your table for everything----"

[Illustration: "'I'm afraid', he ventured 'that I may require that table
for cutting.'"]

He laughed. "You are quite right; I'm not a skillful paper hanger."

"Then," she said, "I am surprised that you came here to paper our
library, and I think you had better go back to your shop and send a
competent man."

He laughed again. The paper hanger's youthful face was curiously
attractive when he laughed--and otherwise, more or less.

He said: "I came to paper this library because Mr. Carr was in a hurry,
and I was the only man in the shop. I didn't want to come. But they made
me.... I think they're rather afraid of Mr. Carr in the shop.... And this
work _must_ be finished today."

She did not know what to say; anything to keep him away from the table
until she could think clearly.

"W-why didn't you want to come?" she asked, fighting for time. "You said
you didn't want to come, didn't you?"

"Because," he said, smiling, "I don't like to hang wall paper."

"But if you are a paper hanger by trade----"

"I suppose you think me a real paper hanger?"

She was cautiously endeavoring to free one edge of her skirt; she nodded
absently, then subsided, crimsoning, as a faint tearing of cloth sounded.

"Go on," she said hurriedly; "the story of your career is _so_
interesting. You say you adore paper hanging----"

"No, I don't," he returned, chagrined. "I say I hate it."

"Why do you do it, then?"

"Because my father thinks that every son of his who finishes college
ought to be disciplined by learning a trade before he enters a
profession. My oldest brother, De Courcy, learned to be a blacksmith; my
next brother, Algernon, ran a bakery; and since I left Harvard I've been
slapping sheets of paper on people's walls----"

"Harvard?" she repeated, bewildered.

"Yes; I was 1907."

"_You!_"

He looked down at his white overalls, smiling.

"Does that astonish you, Miss Carr?--you are Miss Carr, I suppose----"

"Sybilla--yes--we're--we're triplets," she stammered.

"The beauti--the--the Carr triplets! And you are one of them?" he
exclaimed, delighted.

"Yes." Still bewildered, she sat there, looking at him. How
extraordinary! How strange to