did not hang up
the receiver. It was just as well, for the cautious La Touche said, "I
want to talk to her."

"Certainly," said Max, and hastily rose.

"Miss Goodchild," said the photographer, respectfully, "will it be all
right if I let the reporters have--"

"Give him the one Mr. Rutgers likes," came in a sweet voice, without the
slightest trace of Yiddish or catarrh. They would be wonderful
linguists, if they didn't always begin by, "Say, listen."

"Which one is that?"

"The one he likes. And please send the bill to me, not to papa," with
the accent properly on the last syllable.

"There will be no charge, Miss Goodchild. Thank you. I only wished to
make sure you approved."

La Touche rose and, turning to the friendly reporters, asked,
wrathfully, "How in blazes do I know which is the one Mr. Rutgers
liked?"

"Let us pick it out," said one reporter. He wore his hair long.

"Any one will do," said another, considerately.

"I think I know which it is," said Barrett, taking pity on the
photographer. To Mr. Onthemaker he whispered, "Max, you're a second
H. R."

"I try to be," modestly said Sam.

And so the newspapers published the official preference of the lucky
man. They published it because she was going to marry H. R.

That same morning Mr. Goodchild called up the city editors. He was so
stupid that he was angry. He threatened criminal action and also denied
the engagement. Rutgers was only a discharged clerk who had worked in
his bank. He had been annoying his daughter, but he, Mr. Goodchild,
would take steps to put an end to further persecution. Rutgers would not
be allowed to call. He had, Mr. Goodchild admitted, called--uninvited.
Had a man no privacy in New York? What was the matter with the police?
What was he paying taxes for--to be annoyed by insane adventurers and
damned reporters? He didn't want any impertinence. If they didn't print
the denial of the engagement and the facts he would put the matter in
his lawyer's hands.

The afternoon papers that day and the morning papers on the next printed
another portrait of Miss Grace Goodchild because she was not engaged to
H. R.

It was so exactly what a Wall Street millionaire father would do that
everybody in New York instantly recognized a romance in high life!

Grace Goodchild never had known before how many people knew her and how
many more wished to know her. The reporters camped on her front
door-steps and the camera specialists could n