what you
don't want. The candy was for your sister.

Mr. Opp, with the letter still in his hand, suddenly saw a way out of
his difficulty: he would make Hinton's request an excuse for a call upon
Mrs. Gusty. No surer road to her good graces could he travel than by
seeking her advice.

Replacing the ring in the drawer and the letters in his pocket, he
buttoned up his coat, and with a stern look of determination went out of
the office. At the Gusty gate he encountered Val, who was on all fours
by the fence, searching for something.

"What's the matter, Val?" asked Mr. Opp. "Lost something?"

Val raised a pair of mournful eyes. "Yas, sir; you bet I is. Done lost a
penny Mr. Jimmy Fallows gimme for puttin' my fisty in my mouf."

"Putting your fist in your mouth!" repeated Mr. Opp, surprised. "Can you
perform that act?"

Val promptly demonstrated; but just as he was midway, a peremptory voice
called from a rear window:

"Val! You Val! You better answer me this minute!"

Val cowered lower behind the fence, and violently motioned Mr. Opp to go
on.

"Is--er--is Mrs. Gusty feeling well to-day?" asked Mr. Opp, still
lingering at the gate.

"Jes tolerable," said Val, lying flat on his back and speaking in
guarded tones. "Whenever she gits to beatin' de carpets, an' spankin' de
beds, and shakin' de curtains, I keeps outen de way."

"Do you think--er--that--er--I better go in?" asked Mr. Opp, sorely in
need of moral support.

"Yas, sir; she's 'spectin' yer."

This surprising announcement nerved Mr. Opp to open the gate.

It is said that the best-drilled soldiers dodge when they first face the
firing-line, and if Mr. Opp's knees smote together and his body became
bathed in profuse perspiration, it should not be attributed to lack of
manly courage.

In response to his knock, Mrs. Gusty herself opened the door. The signs
that she had been interrupted in the midst of her toilet were so
unmistakable that Mr. Opp promptly averted his eyes. A shawl had been
hastily drawn about her shoulders, on one cheek a streak of chalk
awaited distribution, and a single bristling curl-paper, rising fiercely
from the top of her forehead, gave her the appearance of a startled
unicorn.

"You'll have to excuse me, Mr. Opp," she said firmly, putting the door
between them. "I can't come out, and you can't come in. Did you want
anything?"

"Well, yes," said Mr. Opp, looking helplessly at the blank door. "You
see, there is a matter I