chap who could pose as Orion for
Frieda. I would rather have her think well of me than any one I know of,
I am very sure, and I regretted that my lank form and ill-thatched head
were so unsuited to the make-up of a Greek demigod. Never mind, I know
that when my next book comes out she will send for me, hurriedly, and
make me feel for some minutes as if I were really worthy of tying her
big, ugly, sensible shoes. She has read every one of my stories and
possesses all the books I ever perpetrated, bless her soul! It is good
indeed for a man to be able to look up to a woman, to know in his heart
of hearts that she deserves it, and that she doesn't want to marry him,
and he doesn't want to marry her. It is fine to think they are a pair of
great friends just because they're capable of friendship, a much rarer
accomplishment than most people are aware of.

So I returned to the scene of the night's invasion and climbed up the
stairs, rather wearily. I had the morning paper, three circulars and a
fresh box of cigarettes. Upon my landing I met a large female with a
moustache and decided it must be the washerwoman's sister. She smiled
pleasantly at me and I returned the courtesy.

In such words as I remembered from my erstwhile residence in Paris I
asked how the mother and child were doing.

The lady, she informed me, was doing ever so well. As for the infant, it
had beautiful eyes and was a cherished little cabbage.

Wondering upon the philosophy of endearments as attained by foreign
nations I entered my room, closing the door carefully, and looked over
those pages about the virtuous dog. They were promising, I thought.
After putting them down, I took up my razor, for I hate a barber's
scraping, and indulged in the luxury of a shave.

The instrument, I thought, possessed a splendid edge. Who knows, some
day I might bequeath it to a cherished cabbage.

CHAPTER III

I WATCH AN INFANT

It was all very well for Frieda to tell Mrs. Milliken that, if I had no
objection to that baby, no one else could resent its presence. She
assumes too much. If I had really belonged to the order of vertebrates I
should have objected most strenuously, for its presence is disturbing.
It diverts my attention from literary effort. But of course, since I am
as spineless as a mollusk, I sought to accept this heaven-sent
visitation with due resignation. My endeavor to continue that story was
a most pitiful farce. Four times, in reading over