o depths of pity
in your breast? Is your bosom of adamant? When did you see David Kildare?
He is in a most pitiable condition. He left here not an hour ago and I
felt--"

"Don't worry over David, please, Major," said Phoebe as she paused with
a bit of buttered muffin suspended on the way to her white teeth. "He
is the most riotously--thank you, Tempie, just one more--happy individual
I know. What he wants he has, and he sees to it that he has what he
wants--to which add a most glorious leisure in which to want and have."

"Phoebe, David Kildare has an aching void in his heart that weighs
just one hundred and thirty-six pounds, lacking now I believe one and
three-quarters pounds plus three muffins and a half chicken. How can you
be so heartless?" The major bent a benignly stern glance upon her which
she returned with the utmost unconcern.

"He did not see you all of yesterday or the day before and only once on
Monday, and then you--"

"That sounds like one of those rhyming calendars, my dear Major.

"Monday I am going far away,
Tuesday I'll be busy all the day,
Wednesday is the day I study French,
Thursday is the--"

and Phoebe hummed the little nonsense jingle to him in a most beguiling
manner.

The major laughed delightedly. "Phoebe, some day you will be held
responsible for David Kildare's--"

"But, my dear Major," interrupted Phoebe, "how could I be expected to
work all day for raiment and food, with malted milk and eggs at the price
they are now, and then be responsible for such a perfectly irresponsible
person as David Kildare? Why, just yesterday, while I was writing up the
Farrell d