ar," he
continued, "and _synecdoche_ and _Schenectady_ were always on the
verge of getting mixed when I went to school. My sentiment may be
termed obvious, but I want to offer a slight apology on behalf of
trouble; it is abused too much. I submit this

"SONG TO TROUBLE

"Here's to the measure of every man's worth,
Though when men are wanting it grieves us.
Hearts that are hollow we're better without,
Hearts that are loyal it leaves us.

"Trouble's the dowry of every man's birth,
A nettle adversity flings us;
It yields to the grip of the masterful hand,
When we play coward it stings us.

"Chorus."

"Don't say chorus; that's common."

"I have to say chorus. My verses don't speak for themselves, and no
one would know it was a chorus if I didn't explain. Besides, I'm short
a line in the chorus, and that is what I'm waiting for to finish the
song.

"Chorus:

"Then here's to the bumper that proves every friend!
And though in the drinking it wrings us,
Here's to the cup that we drain to the end,
And here's to--

There I stick. I can't work out the last line."

"And here's to the hearts that it brings us!" exclaimed Dicksie.

"Fine!" cried McCloud. "'Here's to the hearts that it brings us!'"

Dicksie threw back her head and laughed with the others. Then
Whispering Smith looked grave. "There is a difficulty," said he,
knitting his brows. "You have spoiled my song."

"Oh, Mr. Smith, I hope not! Have I?"

"Your line is so much better than what I have that it makes my stuff
sound cheap."

"Oh, no, Gordon!" interposed McCloud. "You don't see that one reason
why Miss Dunning's line sounds better than yours is owing to the
differences in your voices. If she will repeat the chorus, finishing
with her line, you will see the difference."

"Miss Dunning, take the note-book," begged Whispering Smith.

"And rise, of course," suggested McCloud.

"Oh, the note-book! I shall be afraid to hold it. Where are the
verses, Mr. Smith? Is this fine handwriting yours?

Then here's to the bumper that proves every friend!

Isn't that true?

And though when we drink it it wrings us,

--and it does sometimes!

Here's to the cup that we drain to the end,

Even women have to be plucky, don't they, Marion?