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almost pleasing. "Good-bye, Smith, remember your failings."

"I am his clerk." In the car a flash of joy and then great decorum.

"Richard Thorndyke Smith! My dear boy," she cried, while the nieces gasped at each other with gestures and looks all the way between Terpsichore and Melpomene, and then the four cried in chorus, "We know your mother!"

"Yet what?" I snapped out, with horse eyes.

"Such as which?" asked the Yankee, with a twinkle. "There were two kinds."

"I haven't been ordered to tell any one where I'm going."

"Good-morning," I murmured.

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