illiken's, who sell candy, will hand you out
material sugar-plums, yet even those have but an evanescent flavor and
become only memories.

Frieda has returned my twenty-dollar bill, which I stuffed in my pocket.

"One has to be very careful about such things," she told me. "Neither of
us would offend the poor thing for any consideration. I have found out
that she has a little money, but it cannot be very much because she was
very anxious about the doctor's fee and how much Eulalie would charge.
But I didn't think it best to proffer any help just now, saving such as
we can render by making her feel that she has a friend or two in the
world. Isn't it hot?"

I assured her that it was and said I was very glad that Mrs. Dupont was
not quite destitute. By this time the baby was a week old and most
reasonably silent. Mrs. Milliken felt reassured, and the two young women
who sold candy had come up, one evening, to admire the infant. From the
goodness of their hearts they had brought an offering of gummy sweets,
which I subsequently confiscated and bestowed upon Eulalie for her
sister's children, who, she assures me, are to be envied in the
possession of iron stomachs. The commercial young men have instinctively
slammed their doors less violently, and the deaf old lady, precluded by
age from ascending to top floors, sent up a pair of microscopic blue and
white socks and a receipt for the fashioning of junket, which, I
understand, is an edible substance.

"Tell you what!" exclaimed Frieda. "You might take me to Camus this
evening. Dutch treat, you know. I insist on it. I'm tired to-day and
don't want to wrestle with my gas-stove. Besides, I want to talk to you
about Kid Sullivan."

"I'm afraid I'm unacquainted with the youthful Hibernian," I said. "Is
it another baby that you take a vicarious interest in?"

"No, he would have been the lightweight champion, but for his losing a
fight, quite accidentally," she explained. "He told me exactly how it
happened, but I don't remember. At any rate, it was the greatest pity."

"My dear Frieda," I told her, "no one admires more than I a true
democracy of acquaintance and catholicity of friendship, but don't you
think that consorting with prizefighters is a little out of your line?"

"Don't talk nonsense," she said, in her decided way. "I just had to get
a model for Orion, and he's my janitress's brother. The most beautiful
lad you ever saw. He already has a wife and two little child