avitated together some
on the outside. Divested of his stratagems, he seemed to be a pleasant
chap, full of an amiable sort of hostility.

"'I notice you have an affinity for grubbing in the banquet hall after
the guests have fled,' says I to him one day, to draw his conclusions.

"'Well, yes,' says Collier, reflecting; 'the tumult of a crowded board
seems to harass my sensitive nerves.'

"'It exasperates mine some, too,' says I. 'Nice little girl, don't you
think?'

"'I see,' says Collier, laughing. 'Well, now that you mention it, I
have noticed that she doesn't seem to displease the optic nerve.'

"'She's a joy to mine,' says I, 'and I'm going after her. Notice is
hereby served.'

"'I'll be as candid as you,' admits Collier, 'and if the drug stores
don't run out of pepsin I'll give you a run for your money that'll
leave you a dyspeptic at the wind-up.'

"So Collier and me begins the race; the grub department lays in new
supplies; Mame waits on us, jolly and kind and agreeable, and it looks
like an even break, with Cupid and the cook working overtime in
Dugan's restaurant.

"'Twas one night in September when I got Mame to take a walk after
supper when the things were all cleared away. We strolled out a
distance and sat on a pile of lumber at the edge of town. Such
opportunities was seldom, so I spoke my piece, explaining how the
Brazilian diamonds and the fire kindler were laying up sufficient
treasure to guarantee the happiness of two, and that both of 'em
together couldn't equal the light from somebody's eyes, and that the
name of Dugan should be changed to Peters, or reasons why not would be
in order.

"Mame didn't say anything right away. Directly she gave a kind of
shudder, and I began to learn something.

"'Jeff,' she says, 'I'm sorry you spoke. I like you as well as any of
them, but there isn't a man in the world I'd ever marry, and there
never will be. Do you know what a man is in my eye? He's a tomb. He's
a sarcophagus for the interment of Beafsteakporkchopsliver'nbaconham-
andeggs. He's that and nothing more. For two years I've watched men
eat, eat, eat, until they represent nothing on earth to me but
ruminant bipeds. They're absolutely nothing but something that goes in
front of a knife and fork and plate at the table. They're fixed that
way in my mind and memory. I've tried to overcome it, but I can't.
I've heard girls rave about their sweethearts, but I never could
understand it. A man and a