cribed as "high brow," and took the form of a
dialogue between Miss Fosdick and Albert. It was interrupted by the
arrival of the Kelsey limousine, which rolled majestically up to the
drug store steps. Jane spied it first.

"Oh, mercy me, here's mother!" she exclaimed. "And your mother, too,
Madeline. We are tracked to our lair. . . . No, no, Mr. Speranza, you
mustn't go out. No, really, we had rather you wouldn't. Thanks, ever so
much, for the sundaes. Come, Madeline."

Miss Fosdick held out her hand.

"Thank you, Mr. Speranza," she said. "I have enjoyed our poetry talk SO
much. It must be wonderful to write as you do. Good night."

She looked admiringly into his eyes as she said it. In spite of the gall
and wormwood Albert found it not at all unpleasant to be looked at in
that way by a girl like Madeline Fosdick. His reflections on that point
were interrupted by a voice from the car.

"Come, Madeline, come," it said, fussily. "What ARE you waiting for?"

Albert caught a glimpse of a majestic figure which, seated beside Mrs.
Kelsey on the rear seat of the limousine, towered above that short,
plump lady as a dreadnaught towers above a coal barge. He surmised this
figure to be that of the maternal Fosdick. Madeline climbed in beside
her parent and the limousine rolled away.

Albert's going-to-bed reflections that evening were divided in flavor,
like a fruit sundae, a combination of sweet and sour. The sour was
furnished by thoughts of Edwin Raymond and Helen Kendall, the former's
presumption in daring to seek her society as he did, and Helen's
amazing silliness in permitting such a thing. The sweet, of course, was
furnished by a voice which repeated to his memory the words, "It must be
wonderful to write as you do." Also the tone of that voice and the look
in the eyes.

Could he have been privileged to hear the closing bits of a conversation
which was taking place at that moment his reflections might have been
still further saccharined. Miss Jane Kelsey was saying: "And NOW what
do you think of our Cape Cod poet? Didn't I promise you to show you
something you couldn't find on Fifth Avenue?" And to this Miss Madeline
Fosdick made reply: "I think he is the handsomest creature I ever saw.
And so clever! Why, he is wonderful, Jane! How in the world does he
happen to be living here--all the time?"

It is perhaps, on the whole, a good thing that Albert Speranza could not
hear this. It is certainly a good thing that Ca