abstraction, said quietly,--

"Well, what do you think of them?"

Jack rose, laid the magazine down, settled his white waistcoat with both
hands, and lounged towards his friend with audacious but slightly
veiled and shining eyes. "They sort of sing themselves to you," he said,
quietly, leaning beside the editor's desk, and looking down upon him.
After a pause he said, "Then you don't know what she's like?"

"That's what Mr. Bowers asked me," remarked the editor.

"D--n Bowers!"

"I suppose you also wish me to write and ask for permission to give you
her address?" said the editor, with great gravity.

"No," said Jack, coolly. "I propose to give it to YOU within a week, and
you will pay me with a breakfast. I should like to have it said that I
was once a paid contributor to literature. If I don't give it to you,
I'll stand you a dinner, that's all."

"Done!" said the editor. "And you know nothing of her now?"

"No," said Jack, promptly. "Nor you?"

"No more than I have told you."

"That'll do. So long!" And Jack, carefully adjusting his glossy hat over
his curls at an ominously wicked angle, sauntered lightly from the room.