about that. Here's my eight, if you've got five that
makes a noise like Molly Lessing."

P. Sybarite laughed softly and produced the little wad of bills that
represented his weekly wage. At this, George involuntarily drew back.

"And how would you settle the bet?"

"Leave it to her," insisted George in an expiring gasp of bravado.

"You'd ask her yourself?"

"Ye-es--"

"And let it stand on her answer?"

"Wel-l--"

"Here she comes now," added P. Sybarite, glancing up the street.
"Quick, now; you've only a minute to decide. Is it a bet?"

With a gesture of brave decision, George returned his money to his
pocket.

"You're an easy mark," he observed in accents of deep pity. "I knew
you'd think I meant it."

"But didn't you, George?"

"Nah--nothin' like that! I was just kiddin' you along, to see how much
you'd swallow."

"It's all right then," agreed P. Sybarite. "Only--George!"

"Huh?"

"Don't you breathe a word of this to Miss Lessing?"

"Why not?"

"Because I tell you not to--because," said P. Sybarite firmly, "I
forbid you."

"You--you forbid me? Holy Mike! And what--"

"Sssh!" P. Sybarite warned him sibilantly. "Miss Lessing might hear
you.... What will happen if you disobey me," he added as the shop girl
turned in at the gateway, lowering his own voice and fixing the
shipping clerk with a steely stare, "will be another accident, much
resembling that of this afternoon--if you haven't forgotten. Now mind
what I tell you, and be good."

Mr. Bross swelled with resentment; exhibited a distorted and empurpled
visage; but kept silence.

V

THE COMIC SPIRIT

Pausing at the foot of the stoop, Miss Lessing looked up at the two
young men and smiled.

"Good-evening," she said with a pretty nod for P. Sybarite; and, with
its fellow for George, "Good-evening, Mr. Bross," she added.

Having acknowledged this salutation with that quaint courtesy which
somehow seemed to fit him like a garment, P. Sybarite smiled strangely
at the shipping clerk.

The latter mumbled something incoherent, glanced wildly toward the
young woman, and spluttered explosively; all with a blush so deep that
its effect was apoplectic.

Alarmed by this exhibition, Miss Lessing questioned P. Sybarite with
her lifted brows and puzzled eyes.

"George is a little bit excited," he apologised. "Every so often he
becomes obsessed with mad desire to impose upon some simple and
credulous nature like mine. And failure always