wonder whether he liked his steak rare, medium, or well done, and his
eggs over or straight up. That was all. No, Jeff; I'll marry no man and
see him sit at the breakfast table and eat, and come back to dinner and
eat, and happen in again at supper to eat, eat, eat.'

"'But, Mame,' says I, 'it'll wear off. You've had too much of it.
You'll marry some time, of course. Men don't eat always.'

"'As far as my observation goes, they do. No, I'll tell you what
I'm going to do.' Mame turns, sudden, to animation and bright eyes.
'There's a girl named Susie Foster in Terre Haute, a chum of mine.
She waits in the railroad eating house there. I worked two years in a
restaurant in that town. Susie has it worse than I do, because the men
who eat at railroad stations gobble. They try to flirt and gobble at
the same time. Whew! Susie and I have it all planned out. We're saving
our money, and when we get enough we're going to buy a little cottage
and five acres we know of, and live together, and grow violets for the
Eastern market. A man better not bring his appetite within a mile of
that ranch.'

"'Don't girls ever--' I commenced, but Mame heads me off, sharp.

"'No, they don't. They nibble a little bit sometimes; that's all.'

"'I thought the confect--'

"'For goodness' sake, change the subject,' says Mame.

"As I said before, that experience puts me wise that the feminine
arrangement ever struggles after deceptions and illusions. Take