you think I'm a free advice factory? Get out of here,
get out of here, I say, and let me never see your face--"

"Oh, Billy Little, don't, don't," cried Dic. "You can't forsake me after
all these years you have helped me. You can't do it, Billy Little!"

"Get out of here, I say, and don't come back--" ("Ah, Billy Little, I
beg--") "till to-morrow morning. Come to-morrow, and I will try to tell
you what to do." Dic rushed upon the terrible little fellow, clasped
his small form with a pair of great strong arms, and ran from the room.
Billy sat for a moment gazing at the door through which Dic had passed;
then he arranged his stock, and turned to his piano for consolation and
inspiration.

Billy knew that he knew Dic, and believed he knew Sukey. He knew, among
other facts concerning Dic, that he was not a libertine; that he was
pure in mind and purpose; that he loved and revered Rita Bays; and that
he did not care a pin for Sukey's manifold charms of flesh and blood. He
believed that Sukey was infatuated with Dic, and that her fondness grew
partly out of the fact that he did not fall before her smiles. He also
believed that her regard for Dic did not preclude, in her comprehensive
little heart, great tenderness for other men. Sukey had, upon one
occasion, been engaged to marry three separate and distinct swains of
the neighborhood, and a triangular fight among the three suitors had
aroused in the breast of her girl friends a feeling of envy that was
delicious to the dimpling little _casus belli_. After Dic's departure,
Billy sat throughout most of the night gazing into the fire, smoking his
pipe, and turning the situation over in his mind. When Dic arrived next
morning he was seated on the counter ready with his advice. The young
man took a seat beside him.

"Now tell me all about it," said Billy. "I think I know, but tell me the
exact truth. Don't spare the dimpler, and don't spare yourself."

Thereupon Dic unfolded his story with a naked truthfulness that made him
blush.

"I thought as much," remarked Billy, when the story was finished. "Miss
Potiphar from Egypt has brought you and herself into trouble."

"No, no, Billy Little, you are wrong. I cannot escape blame by placing
the fault upon her. I should despise myself if I did; but I would be a
blind fool not to see that--that--oh, I cannot explain. You know there
are Jap Bertram, Dick Olders, Tom Printz, and, above all, Tom Bays, who
are her close friends and co