interesting story, with lots of uplifting thoughts in it." The thoughts
might be uplifting to Almena, but they did not elevate my spirits. As
for the story--well, the hero was a young gentleman who was poor but
tremendously clever and handsome, and the heroine had eyes "as dark and
deep as starlit pools." The poor but beautiful person met the pool-eyed
one at a concert, where he sat, "his whole soul transfigured by the
music," and she had been "fascinated in spite of herself" by the look on
his face. I read as far as that and dropped the book in disgust.

After that I must have fallen asleep. What awakened me was a knock
on the door. It was Lute, of course. Probably mother wanted me for
something or other, and Dorinda had sent her husband to hunt me up.

The knock was repeated.

"Come in," I said, sleepily.

The door opened and in came, not Lute, but a tall, portly man, with a
yachting cap on the back of his gray head, and a cigar in his mouth. He
looked at me as I lay on the couch and I lay on the couch and looked at
him.

"Afternoon," he said, curtly. "Is your name Paine?"

I nodded. I was waking rapidly, but I was too astonished to speak.

"Roscoe Paine?"

"Yes."