eters said, laughing.

"Yas, I reckon it would," said 'Pollo; "but de fact is she gi' me dis
hank'cher--an' of co'se I accepted it."

"But why ain't you tellin' us what you give her?" insisted Peters.

'Pollo put the cigarette to his lips, deliberately lit it, puffed
several times, and then, removing it in a leisurely way, he drawled:

"Well, de fact is, I heerd Mr. Pier here give her a buggy,
an'--Mr. Peters, he up an' handed over a horse,--an' so, quick
as I got a chance, I des balanced my ekalub'ium an' went an' set
down beside her an' ast her ef she wouldn't do me the honor to
accep' of a driver, an'--an' she say yas.

"You know I'm a coachman by trade.

"An dat's huccome I to say she got sev'al presents las' night."

And he took another puff of his cigarette.

[G] From "Moriah's Mourning." Copyright, 1898, by Harper & Brothers.

An Invalid in Lodgings

BY J. M. BARRIE.

Until my system collapsed, my landlady only spoke of me as her parlor.
At intervals I had communicated with her through the medium of Sarah
Ann, the servant, and, as her rent was due on Wednesday, could I pay my
bill now? Except for these monetary transactions, my landlady and I were
total strangers, and, though I sometimes fell over her children in the
lobby, that led to no intimacy. Even Sarah Ann never opened her mouth
to me. She brought in my tea, and left me to discover that it was there.
My first day in lodgings I said "Good-morning" to Sarah Ann, and she
replied, "Eh?" "Good-morning," I repeated, to which she answered
contemptuously, "Oh, ay." For six months I was simply the parlor; but
then I fell ill, and at once became an interesting person.

Sarah Ann found me shivering on the sofa one hot day a week or more ago,
beneath my rug, two coats, and some other articles. My landlady sent
up some beef-tea, in which she has a faith that is pathetic, and then,
to complete the cure, she appeared in person. She has proved a nice,
motherly old lady, but not cheerful company.

"Where do you feel it worst, sir?" she asked.

I said it was bad all over, but worst in my head.

"On your brow?"

"No; on the back of my head."

"It feels like a lump of lead?"

"No; like a furnace."

"That's just what I feared," she said. "It began so with him."

"With whom?"

"My husband. He came in one day, five years ago, complaining of his
head, and in three days he was a corpse."

"What?"

"Don't be afraid, sir. Maybe it isn't the sa