rd!" and he stopped and surveyed me with beady eyes the
while his round little body seemed to fairly swell with pent-up
laughter. "It's too rich! Oh, if it just works out Dick'll be sore!
Wait'll I tell you," he went on. "You know how crazy he is about rich
young heiresses? You know how he's always 'dressing up' and talking and
writing about marrying one of those girls in the West end?" (Dick was
forever composing a short story in which some lorn but perfect and great
artist was thus being received via love, the story being read to us
nights in his studio.) "That's all bluff, that talk of his of visiting
in those big houses out there. All he does is to dress up every night as
though he were going to a ball, and walk out that way and moon around.
Well, listen. Here's the idea. We'll go over to Mermod & Jaccards
to-morrow and get a few sheets of their best monogrammed paper, sample
sheets. Then we'll get up a letter and sign it with the most romantic
name we can think of--Juanita or Cyrene or Doris--and explain who she
is, the daughter of a millionaire living out there, and that she's been
strictly brought up but that in spite of all that she's seen his name in
the paper at the bottom of his pictures and wants to meet him, see? Then
we'll have her suggest that he come out to the west gate of, say,
Portland Place at seven o'clock and meet her. We'll have her describe
herself, see, young and beautiful, and some attractive costume she's to
wear, and we'll kill him. He'll fall hard. Then we'll happen by there at
the exact time when he's waiting, and detain him, urge him to come into
the park with us or to dinner. We'll look our worst so he'll be ashamed
of us. He'll squirm and get wild, but we'll hang on and spoil the date
for him, see? We'll insist in the letter that he must be alone, see,
because she's timid and afraid of being recognized. My God, he'll be
crazy! He'll think we've ruined his life--oh, ho, ho!" and he fairly
writhed with inward joy.

The thing worked. It was cruel in its way, but when has man ever grieved
over the humorous ills of others? The paper was secured, the letter
written by a friend of Peter's in a nearby real estate office, after the
most careful deliberation as to wording on our part. Extreme youth,
beauty and a great mansion were all hinted at. The fascination of Dick
as a romantic figure was touched upon. He would know her by a green silk
scarf about her waist, for it was spring, the ideal season