hand the market-basket on her own doorstep, and turned
reluctantly away. But there still were clouds in it. Rose had admitted
that two things were necessary before getting married could be thought
of at all seriously: something must be done by which the nose of the
Count Siccatif de Courtray would be disjointed; something must be done
to assure Madame Carthame that M. d'Antimoine, in some fashion at least
a little removed from semi-starvation, could maintain a wife.

It was certain that until these things were accomplished Madame
Carthame's lofty resolution to transform her daughter into a countess,
and her stern disapprobation of Jaune as a social outcast, never would
be overcome!

As events turned out, it was the second of these requirements that was
fulfilled first.

Mr. Badger Brush was a very rich sporting man, whose tastes were
horsey, but whose heart was in the right place. It was his delight to
make or to back extraordinary wagers. Few New Yorkers have forgotten
that very queer bet of his that resulted in putting high hats on all
the Broadway telegraph poles. When Mr. Brush read the story of Jaune
d'Antimoine's wager, therefore, he was greatly pleased with its
originality; and when, later in the day, he fell in with little Conte
Crayon at Jerome Park, he pressed that ingenious young newspaper man
for additional particulars. And knowing the whereabouts of Mr. Badger
Brush's heart, Conte Crayon did not hesitate to tell the whole story--
winding up with the pointed suggestion that inasmuch as the hero of the
story was an animal-painter of decided, though as yet unrecognized,
ability, Mr. Brush could not do better than manifest his interest in a
practical way by giving him an order. The sporting man rose to the
suggestion with a commendable promptness and warmth.

"I don't care a blank if it wasn't a bet," he said, heartily. "That
young man has pluck, and he deserves to be encouraged. I'll go down and
see him to-morrow, and I'll order a portrait of Celeripes; a life-size,
thousand-dollar portrait, by Jove! Celeripes deserves it, after the pot
of money he brought me at Long Branch, and your friend deserves it too.
And I have some other horses that I want painted, and some dogs--he
paints dogs, I suppose? And I know a lot of other fellows who ought to
have their horses painted, and I'll start them along at him. I'll give
him all the painting he can handle in the next ten years. For it _was_
a bet, you see, afte