ouldn't have
done the same thing in any old year if she wanted to. Of all the funny
old superstitions, the quaintest of the lot is that Leap Year proposal
business."

"How you talk," cried the Idiot. "Such iconoclasm. I had always supposed
that Leap Year was a sort of matrimonial safety valve for old maids, and
here in a trice you overthrow all the cherished notions of a lifetime.
Why, Mrs. Pedagog, I know men who take to the woods every Leap Year just
to escape the possibilities."

"Courageous souls," said the landlady. "Facing the unknown perils of the
forest, rather than manfully meeting a proposal of marriage."

"It is hard to say no to a woman," said the Idiot. "I'd hate like time
to have one of 'em come to me and ask me to be hers. Just imagine it.
Some dainty little damsel of a soulful nature, with deep blue eyes, and
golden curls, and pearly teeth, and cherry lips, a cheek like the soft
and ripening peach and a smile that would bewitch even a Saint Anthony,
getting down on her knees and saying, 'O Idiot--dearest Idiot--be
mine--I love you, devotedly, tenderly, all through the Roget's
Thesaurusly, and have from the moment I first saw you. With you to share
it my lot in life will be heaven itself. Without you a Saharan waste of
Arctic frigidity. Wilt thou?' I think I'd wilt. I couldn't bring myself
to say 'No, Ethelinda, I can not be yours because my heart is set on a
strengthful damsel with raven locks and eyes of coal, with lips a shade
less cherry than thine, and a cheek more like the apple than the peach,
who can go out on the links and play golf with me. But if you ever need
a brother in your business I am the floor-walker that will direct you to
the bargain-counter where you'll find the latest thing in brothers at
cost.' I'd simply cave in on the instant and say, 'All right, Ethelinda,
call a cab and we'll trot around to the Little Church Around the Corner
and tie the knot; that is, my love, if you think you can support me in
the style to which I am accustomed."

Mr. Brief laughed. "I wouldn't bother if I were you, Mr. Idiot," said
he. "Women don't tie up very strongly to Idiots."

"Oh don't they," retorted the Idiot. "Well, do you know I had a sort of
notion that they did. The men that some of the nice girls I have known
in my day have tied up to have somehow or other given me the impression
that a woman has a special leaning toward Idiots. There was my old
sweetheart, Sallie Wiggins, for instance--tha