are creatures of impulse; nothing brilliant is ever achieved by
calculation. All this is not to say that I am a great captain; it is
offered only to inform you that I am often impulsive.

A _Times_, four days old; and if I hadn't fallen upon it to pass the
twenty-odd minutes between my order and the service of it, I shouldn't
have made the acquaintance of the police in that pretty little suburb
over in New Jersey; nor should I have met the enchanting Blue Domino;
nor would fate have written Kismet. The clairvoyant never has any fun
in this cycle; he has no surprises.

I had been away from New York for several weeks, and had returned only
that afternoon. Thus, the spirit of unrest acquired by travel was
still upon me. It was nearing holiday week, and those congenial
friends I might have called upon, to while away the evening, were
either busily occupied with shopping or were out of town; and I
determined not to go to the club and be bored by some indifferent
billiard player. I would dine quietly, listen to some light music, and
then go to the theater. I was searching the theatrical amusements,
when the society column indifferently attacked my eye. I do not know
why it is, but I have a wholesome contempt for the so-called society
columns of the daily newspaper in New York. Mayhap, it is because I do
not belong.

I read this paragraph with a shrug, and that one with a smirk. I was
in no manner surprised at the announcement that Miss High-Culture was
going to wed the Duke of Impecune; I had always been certain this girl
would do some such fool thing. That Mrs. Hyphen-Bonds was giving a
farewell dinner at the Waldorf, prior to her departure to Europe,
interested my curiosity not in the least degree. It would be all the