little by little unfolding the desiccated leaves of her tranquil past,
and, yielding, as of old, to the charm of youth and good looks, the
faded spinster told him all.

"I will sell my precious knowledge, bit by bit, to Madame Berthe," he
ruminated. "Evidently the Louison dares not face this stony-faced
Swiss Medusa. The felites histoires of Francois will fill up my mental
notebook." Major Hawke then sat down at ease in the cafe of the Hotel
National to indite a dispatch of spartan brevity to "Madame Louison" at
the Hotel Faucon, Lausanne. "The Cook's Agency tell me that the London
draft will be paid to-morrow. Francois will deliver me the photographs,
and relate his selected historical excerpts, and then I will be ready
to have a duel of wits with Madame Berthe." So he simply telegraphed to
Lausanne:

"Successful--arrive to-morrow night." He then dispatched the head porter
with the telegram, and while enjoying his parting brandy and soda,
was suddenly made aware of the near proximity of Mr. Phineas Forbes of
Chicago, who was anxiously drinking cocktail after cocktail in a
moody unrest. The lank Chicago capitalist waved his tufted chin beard
dejectedly as he answered the Briton's casual salutation. "I'm worried
about the girls," he simply said. "They're off on the lake, with the
Marquis de Santa Marina and that French chap, the Count de Roquefort. I
don't more than half like it." The hour was late, and the heavy father
glued his eyes upon the darkened window pane. "Is Madame Forbes with
them?" murmured the Englishman.

"Oh, Lord, no!" simply said the Illinois capitalist. "The girls are used
to going out alone with their gentlemen friends, but I'm afraid that
these two damned useless foreigners will upset the boat and drown my two
girls. I wouldn't care a rap if they were alone. But these Dago noblemen
are no good--at least that's my experience. I indorsed a draft for one
of them that Mommer and the girls dragged up to the house last year.
Came back marked 'N. G.'--I wish to God the girls wouldn't pick up these
fellows."

Alan Hawke hazarded the inquiry "Why do you permit it?"

The Chicago pork jammer thrust his hand in his pockets and whistled
reflectively. "How the deuce can I help it?" he reflectively answered,
"Mother and the girls go in for high society. What'll you have? You can
talk French to this fellow. Now, order up the best in the house," Alan
Hawke laughed and charitably divided the hour of long waiting