eloquence had come back all right. I led her under a cocoanut palm
and put my old verbal spell on her again.

"'Judson,' says she, 'when you are talking to me I can hear nothing
else--I can see nothing else--there is nothing and nobody else in
the world for me.'

"Well, that's about all of the story. Anabela went back to Oratama
in the steamer with me. I never heard what became of Fergus. I never
saw him any more. Anabela is now Mrs. Judson Tate. Has my story
bored you much?"

"No," said I. "I am always interested in psychological studies.
A human heart--and especially a woman's--is a wonderful thing to
contemplate."

"It is," said Judson Tate. "And so are the trachea and bronchial
tubes of man. And the larynx too. Did you ever make a study of the
windpipe?"

"Never," said I. "But I have taken much pleasure in your story.
May I ask after Mrs. Tate, and inquire of her present health and
whereabouts?"

"Oh, sure," said Judson Tate. "We are living in Bergen Avenue,
Jersey City. The climate down in Oratama didn't suit Mrs. T. I
don't suppose you ever dissected the arytenoid cartilages of the
epiglottis, did you?"

"Why, no," said I, "I am no surgeon."