s no way for a true-hearted Maiden to speak of her Soul Mate.

Father put the Cap Sheaf on his big Experiment by accepting an
invitation to go Yachting.

He put them side by side on Deck and told them to comfort each other,
in case anything happened.

They never could have been quite the same to each other after that
Day.

Bernice wanted to get back on Shore and hunt her Room and peel down to
a Kimono and refuse any Callers for a Month.

Even the accepted Swain was beginning to slow up. He could remember
the time when he used to sit around with members of his own Sex.

Father had no Mercy. He took the two Invalids back to Land and rounded
them up for Breakfast next morning.

When Kenneth appeared, he was slightly greenish in Color.

One Ear was three times as large as the other. He had caught a Sniffy
Cold.

In partaking of his Coffee he made Sounds similar to those coming
through the Partition when the People in the adjoining Flat have
trouble with the Plumbing.

He saw Bernice glaring at him and bit his Nails in Embarrassment.

Father felt the Crisis impending and laid on the last Straw.

"I was trying to recall that Story," said he--"the One about the
German and the Dog."

Bernice gave one Shriek and then dashed from the Room, making
hysterical Outcries along the Corridor.

Father told Kenneth to check all the Trunks for Home and then catch an
early Train.

Bernice was squirming about on the Hotel Sofa when Father entered the
Room.

She threw herself into his Arms and passionately demanded, "Why, oh,
why are you trying to force me into marrying that Creature?"

MORAL: Don't get acquainted too soon.

THE NEW FABLE OF THE UPLIFTER AND HIS DANDY LITTLE OPUS

Once there was a Litry Guy who would don his Undertaker's Regalia and
the White Satin Puff Tie and go out of an Afternoon to read a Paper to
the Wimmen.

At every Tea Battle and Cookie Carnival he was hailed as the Big Hero.

A good many pulsating Dulcineas who didn't know what "Iconoclast"
meant, regarded him as an awful Iconoclast.

And cynical? Mercy!

When he stood up in a Front Room and Unfolded his MS., and swallowed
the Peppermint Wafer and began to Bleat, no one in the World of
Letters was safe.

He would wallop Dickens and jounce Kipling and even take a side-swipe
at Luella Prentiss Budd, who was the Poetess Laureate for the Ward in
which he lived.

Ever since his Stuff had been shot back by a Boston Editor with a