ing desired by the American. West seated himself at his usual table
and, spreading out the Daily Mail, sought his favorite column. The first
item in that column brought a delighted smile to his face:

"The one who calls me Dearest is not genuine or they would write to me."

Any one at all familiar with English journalism will recognize at once
what department it was that appealed most to West. During his three
weeks in London he had been following, with the keenest joy, the daily
grist of Personal Notices in the Mail. This string of intimate
messages, popularly known as the Agony Column, has long been an honored
institution in the English press. In the days of Sherlock Holmes it
was in the Times that it flourished, and many a criminal was tracked
to earth after he had inserted some alluring mysterious message in it.
Later the Telegraph gave it room; but, with the advent of halfpenny
journalism, the simple souls moved en masse to the Mail.

Tragedy and comedy mingle in the Agony Column. Erring ones are urged to
return for forgiveness; unwelcome suitors are warned that "Father has
warrant prepared; fly, Dearest One!" Loves that would shame by their
ardor Abelard and Heloise are frankly published--at ten cents a
word--for all the town to smile at. The gentleman in the brown derby
states with fervor that the blonde governess who got off the tram at
Shepherd's Bush has quite won his heart. Will she permit his addresses?
Answer; this department. For three weeks West had found this sort of
thing delicious reading. Best of all, he could detect in these messages
nothing that was not open and innocent. At their worst they were merely
an effort to side-step old Lady Convention; this inclination was so
rare in the British, he felt it should be encouraged. Besides, he was
inordinately fond of mystery and romance, and these engaging twins
hovered always about that column.

So, while waiting for his strawberries, he smiled over the ungrammatical
outburst of the young lady who had come to doubt the genuineness of him
who called her Dearest. He passed on to the second item of the morning.
Spoke one whose heart had been completely conquered:

MY LADY sleeps. She of raven tresses. Corner seat from Victoria,
Wednesday night. Carried program. Gentleman answering inquiry desires
acquaintance. Reply here. --LE ROI.

West made a mental note to watch for the reply of raven tresses. The
next message proved to be one of Aye's lyrics--now a