d."

"Nobody need know," said Myra, "_which_ winter-sport they were won at."

"Unless I have 'Ski-ing, First Prize' engraved on mine," I said, "as I
had rather intended."

"Then I shall have 'Figure-Skating' on mine," said Dahlia.

"Two cups," reflected Archie, "and Thomas engaged to three charming
girls. I think it has been worth it, you know."

A BAKER'S DOZEN

A TRAGEDY IN LITTLE

The great question of the day is, What will become of Sidney? Whenever I
think of him now, the unbidden tear wells into my eye ... and wells down
my cheek ... and wells on to my collar. My friends think I have a cold,
and offer me lozenges; but it is Sidney who makes me weep. I fear that I
am about to lose him.

He came into my life in the following way.

Some months ago I wanted to buy some silk stockings; not for myself, for
I seldom wear them, but for a sister. The idea came suddenly to me that
any woman with a brother and a birthday would simply love the one to
give her silk stockings for the other. But, of course, they would have
to be the right silk stockings--the fashionable shape for the year, the
correct assortment of clocks, and so forth. Then as to material--could I
be sure I was getting silk, and not silkette or something inferior? How
maddening if, seeing that I was an unprotected man, they palmed off
Jaeger on me! Clearly this was a case for outside assistance. So I
called in Celia.

"This," I said to her, "is practically the only subject on which I am
not an expert. At the same time I have a distinct feeling for silk
stockings. If you can hurry me past all the embarrassing counters
safely, and arrange for the lady behind the right one to show me the
right line in silken hose, I will undertake to pick out half a dozen
pairs that would melt any sister's heart."

Well, the affair went off perfectly. Celia took the matter into her own
hands and behaved just as if I were buying them for _her_. The
shop-assistant also behaved as if I were. Fortunately I kept my head
when it came to giving the name and address. "No," I said firmly to
Celia. "Not yours; my sister's." And I dragged her away to tea.

Now whether it was because Celia had particularly enjoyed her afternoon;
or because she felt that a man who was as ignorant as I about silk
stockings must lead a very lonely life; or because I had mentioned
casually and erroneously that it was my own birthday that week, I cannot
say; but on the following mornin