band round it, in his hand.

"I understand, madam," he spoke with an even American intonation,
"you wish to be supplied with a guest who will make all other
luncheon-parties look, so to speak, like thirty cents."

"Yes, that is just what I want," answered Mrs. Bergmann, who continued
to be surprised at herself.

"Well, I reckon there's no one living who'd suit," said Mr. Satan, "and
I'd better supply you with a celebrity of _a_ former generation." He
then took out a small pocket-book from his coat pocket, and quickly
turning over its leaves he asked in a monotonous tone: "Would you like a
Philosopher? Anaxagoras, Aristotle, Aurelius, M.?"

"Oh! no," answered Mrs. Bergmann with decision, "they would ruin any
luncheon."

"A Saint?" suggested Mr. Satan, "Antony, Ditto of Padua, Athanasius,
Augustine, Anselm?"

"Good heavens, no," said Mrs. Bergmann.

"A Theologian, good arguer?" asked Mr. Satan, "Aquinas, T?"

"No," interrupted Mrs. Bergmann, "for heaven's sake don't always give
me the A's, or we shall never get on to anything. You'll be offering me
Adam and Abel next."

"I beg your pardon," said Mr. Satan, "Latimer, Laud--Historic Interest,
Church and Politics combined," he added quickly.

"I don't want a clergyman," said Mrs. Bergmann.

"Artist?" said Mr. Satan, "Andrea del Sarto, Angelo, M., Apelles?"

"You're going back to the A's," interrupted Mrs. Bergmann.

"Bellini, Benvenuto Cellini, Botticelli?" he continued imperturbably.

"What's the use of them when I can get Sargent every day?" asked Mrs.
Bergmann.

"A man of action, perhaps? Alexander, Bonaparte, Caesar, J., Cromwell,
O., Hannibal?"

"Too heavy for luncheon," she answered, "they would do for _dinner_."

"Plain statesman? Bismarck, Count; Chatham, Lord; Franklin, B;
Richelieu, Cardinal."

"That would make the members of the Cabinet feel uncomfortable," she
said.

"A Monarch? Alfred; beg pardon, he's an A. Richard III., Peter the
Great, Louis XI., Nero?"

"No," said Mrs. Bergmann. "I can't have a Royalty. It would make it too
stiff."

"I have it," said Mr. Satan, "a highwayman: Dick Turpin; or a
housebreaker: Jack Sheppard or Charles Peace?"

"Oh! no," said Mrs. Bergmann, "they might steal the Sevres."

"A musician? Bach or Beethoven?" he suggested.

"He's getting into the B's now," thought Mrs. Bergmann. "No," she added
aloud, "we should have to ask him to play, and he can't play Wagner, I
suppose, and musicians are so touchy."