snugglingly in parenthesis like the tickle of lips against his ear
whispered the one phrase: "My picture is in the fourth paper,--if you
should happen still to be awake at four o'clock."

Where now was Stanton's boasted sense of honor concerning the ethics
of playing the game according to directions? "Wait a whole hour to see
what Molly looked like? Well he guessed not!" Fumbling frantically
under his pillow and across the medicine stand he began to search for
the missing "No. 4 o'clock." Quite out of breath, at last he
discovered it lying on the floor a whole arm's length away from the
bed. Only with a really acute stab of pain did he finally succeed in
reaching it. Then with fingers fairly trembling with effort, he
opened forth and disclosed a tiny snap-shot photograph of a
grim-jawed, scrawny-necked, much be-spectacled elderly dame with a
huge gray pompadour.

[Illustration: An elderly dame]

"Stung!" said Stanton.

Rheumatism or anger, or something, buzzed in his heart like a bee the
rest of the night.

Fortunately in the very first mail the next morning a postal-card came
from Cornelia--such a pretty postal-card too, with a bright-colored
picture of an inordinately "riggy" looking ostrich staring over a neat
wire fence at an eager group of unmistakably Northern tourists.
Underneath the picture was written in Cornelia's own precious hand the
heart-thrilling information: