te charming sympathy. A useful, excellent fellow, amazingly
unself-conscious and gifted.

Martin was infinitely content to listen and lie back in a deep straw
chair with a pipe between his teeth, the memories of good evenings at
Yale curling up in his smoke. And Tootles, thinking and thinking, sat,
Puck-like, at his feet, with her warm shoulders against his knees. Not
in her memory could she delve for pleasant things, not yet. Eh, but
some day she might be among the lucky ones, if--if her plan went
through--

Howard lit another cigarette at the end of the song, but before he
could get his hands on the notes again Irene bounded to her feet and
went over to the piano. "Say, can you play 'Love's Epitome'?" she
pronounced it "Eppy-tomy."

"Can a duck swim?" asked Howard, resisting a temptation to emit a howl
of mirth. She was too good a sort to chaff about her frequent
maltreatment of the language.

"Go ahead, then, and I'll give you all a treat." He played the
sentimental prelude of this characteristic product of the vaudeville
stage, every note of which was plagiarized from a thousand plagiarisms
and which imagined that eternity rhymed with serenity and mother with
weather. With gestures that could belong to no other school than that
of the twice-dailies and the shrill nasal voice that inevitably goes
with them, Irene, with the utmost solemnity, went solidly through the
whole appalling thing, making the frequent yous "yee-ooo" in the true
"vawdville" manner.

To Tootles it was very moving, and she was proud of her friend. Martin
almost died of it, and Howard was weak from suppressed laughter. It was
the first time that Irene had shown the boys what she could do, and she
was delighted at their enthusiastic applause. She would have rendered
another of the same sort gladly enough,--she knew dozens of them, if
Tootles had not given her a quick look and risen to her feet.

"Us for the downey," she said, and put the palm of her hand on Martin's
lips. He kissed it.

"Not yet," said Howard. "It's early."

"Late enough for those who get up at dawn, old dear. Come on, Irene."

And Irene, remembering what her friend had said that morning, played
the game loyally, although most reluctant to leave that pleasant
atmosphere, and said "Good night." And she was in such good voice and
Howard played her accompaniment like a streak. Well, well.

Tootles took her hand away gently, gave Martin a little disturbing
smile, put her ar