distaste for display. As
there was no one else of humbler rank at hand from whom Jill could
solicit an introduction and the privilege of an audience, she took the
bold step of addressing him directly.

"I want to see Major Selby, please."

The Guatemalan general arrested for a moment the rhythmic action of
his jaws, lowered his paper and looked at her with raised eyebrows. At
first Jill thought that he was registering haughty contempt, then she
saw what she had taken for scorn was surprise.

"Major Selby?"

"Major Selby."

"No Major Selby living here."

"Major Christopher Selby."

"Not here," said the associate of ambassadors and the pampered pet of
Guatemala's proudest beauties. "Never heard of him in my life!"

II

Jill had read works of fiction in which at certain crises everything
had "seemed to swim" in front of the heroine's eyes, but never till
this moment had she experienced that remarkable sensation herself. The
Saviour of Guatemala did not actually swim, perhaps, but he certainly
flickered. She had to blink to restore his prismatic outlines to their
proper sharpness. Already the bustle and noise of New York had begun
to induce in her that dizzy condition of unreality which one feels in
dreams, and this extraordinary statement added the finishing touch.

Perhaps the fact that she had said "please" to him when she opened the
conversation touched the heart of the hero of a thousand revolutions.
Dignified and beautiful as he was to the eye of the stranger, it is
unpleasant to have to record that he lived in a world which rather
neglected the minor courtesies of speech. People did not often say
"please" to him. "Here!" "Hi!" and "Gosh darn you!" yes; but seldom
"please." He seemed to approve of Jill, for he shifted his chewing-gum
to a position which facilitated speech, and began to be helpful.

"What was the name again?"

"Selby."

"Howja spell it?"

"S-e-l-b-y."

"S-e-l-b-y. Oh, Selby?"

"Yes, Selby."

"What was the first name?"

"Christopher."

"Christopher?"

"Yes, Christopher."

"Christopher Selby? No one of that name living here."

"But there must be."

The veteran shook his head with an indulgent smile.

"You want Mr. Sipperley," he said tolerantly. In Guatemala these
mistakes are always happening. "Mr. George Sipperley. He's on the
fourth floor. What name shall I say?"

He had almost reached the telephone when Jill stopped him. This is an
age of just-as-good substitut