no inhabitants.

This fortunate--or perhaps unfortunate--youth had never been blessed
with a given name, more than the simple initial "A." The failure of his
mother and father to agree upon a baptismal name for their only child
had resulted in a deadlock; and, as the family claimed a direct descent
from the famous John Paul Jones, the proud father declared that to be "a
Jones" was sufficient honor for any boy; hence he should be known merely
as "A. Jones." The mother called her child by the usual endearing pet
names until her death, after which the islanders dubbed the master's
son--then toddling around in his first trousers--"Ajo," and the name had
stuck to him ever since for want of a better one.

With the Bohemian indifference to household routine so characteristic of
New Yorkers, the party decided to dine at a down-town restaurant before
returning to Willing Square, and it was during this entertainment that
young Jones first learned of the expected arrival of Maud Stanton on the
following morning. But he was no wiser than the others as to what
mission could have brought the girl to New York so suddenly that a
telegram was required to announce her coming.

"You see, I left Los Angeles weeks ago," the boy explained, "and at that
time Mrs. Montrose and her nieces were busy as bees and much too
occupied to pay attention to a drone like me. There was no hint then of
their coming East, but of course many things may have happened in the
meantime."

The young fellow was so congenial a companion and the girls were so well
aware of his loneliness, through lack of acquaintances, that they
carried him home with them to spend the evening. When he finally left