have a faint dry-point
etching of Alice. The family owned a crumbly brick house and a
coachman named Joseph in a coat of many colours, and a horse so old
that he claimed to belong to the order of the Perissodactyla, and
had toes instead of hoofs. In the year 1898 the family had to buy
a new set of harness for the Perissodactyl. Before using it they
made Joseph smear it over with a mixture of ashes and soot. It
was the Von der Ruysling family that bought the territory between
the Bowery and East River and Rivington Street and the Statue of
Liberty, in the year 1649, from an Indian chief for a quart of
passementerie and a pair of Turkey-red portieres designed for a
Harlem flat. I have always admired that Indian's perspicacity and
good taste. All this is merely to convince you that the Von der
Ruyslings were exactly the kind of poor aristocrats that turn down
their noses at people who have money. Oh, well, I don't mean that; I
mean people who have _just_ money.

One evening Pilkins went down to the red brick house in Gramercy
Square, and made what he thought was a proposal to Alice v. d. R.
Alice, with her nose turned down, and thinking of his money,
considered it a proposition, and refused it and him. Pilkins,
summoning all his resources as any good general would have done,
made an indiscreet references to the advantages that his money
would provide. That settled it. The lady turned so cold that Walter
Wellman himself would have waited until spring to make a dash for
her in a dog-sled.

But Pilkins was something of a sport himself. You can't fool all the
millionaires every time the ball drops on the Western Union
Building.

"If, at any time," he said to A. v. d. R., "you feel that you would
like to reconsider your answer, send me a rose like that."

Pilkins audaciously touched a Jacque rose that she wore loosely in
her hair.

"Very well," said she. "And when I do, you will understand by it
that either you or I have learned something new about the purchasing
power of money. You've been spoiled, my friend. No, I don't think
I could marry you. To-morrow I will send you back the presents you
have given me."

"Presents!" said Pilkins in surprise. "I never gave you a present in
my life. I would like to see a full-length portrait of the man that
you would take a present from. Why, you never would let me send you
flowers or candy or even art calendars."

"You've forgotten," said Alice v. d. R., with a little smile. "I