the things that were
not mysterious. One of Mr. Kipling's poems is addressed to "Ye who
hold the unwritten clue to all save all unwritten things." The same
"readers" are invited to tackle the foregoing assertion.

Mr. Brunelli, being impressionable and a Latin, fell to conjugating
the verb "amare," with Katy in the objective case, though not because
of antipathy. She talked it over with her mother.

"Sure, I like him," said Katy. "He's more politeness than twinty
candidates for Alderman, and lie makes me feel like a queen whin he
walks at me side. But what is he, I dinno? I've me suspicions. The
marnin'll coom whin he'll throt out the picture av his baronial halls
and ax to have the week's rint hung up in the ice chist along wid all
the rist of 'em."

"'Tis thrue," admitted Mrs. Dempsey, "that he seems to be a sort iv a
Dago, and too coolchured in his spache for a rale gentleman. But ye
may be misjudgin' him. Ye should niver suspect any wan of bein' of
noble descint that pays cash and pathronizes the laundry rig'lar."

"He's the same thricks of spakin' and blarneyin' wid his hands,"
sighed Katy, "as the Frinch nobleman at Mrs. Toole's that ran away
wid Mr. Toole's Sunday pants and left the photograph of the Bastile,
his grandfather's chat-taw, as security for tin weeks' rint."

Mr. Brunelli continued his calorific wooing. Katy continued to
hesitate. One day he asked her out to dine and she felt that a
denouement was in the air. While they are on their way, with Katy in
her best muslin, you must take as an entr'acte a brief peep at New
York's Bohemia.

'Tonio's restaurant is in Bohemia. The very location of it is secret.
If you wish to know where it is ask the first person you meet. He
will tell you in a whisper. 'Tonio discountenances custom; he keeps
his house-front black and forbidding; he gives you a pretty bad
dinner; he locks his door at the dining hour; but he knows spaghetti
as the boarding-house knows cold veal; and--he has deposited many
dollars in a certain Banco di-- something with many gold vowels in
the name on its windows.

To this restaurant Mr. Brunelli conducted Katy. The house was dark
and the shades were lowered; but Mr. Brunelli touched an electric
button by the basement door, and they were admitted.

Along a long, dark, narrow hallway they went and then through a
shining and spotless kitchen that opened directly upon a back yard.

The walls of houses hemmed three sides of the yard; a hig