tantalize me! Do you mean,'' he added, turning
slowly, ``that no one calls you `Mary Jane'
now?''

``Not if they know what is best for them.''

``Oh!'' Calderwell noted the smouldering fire
in the other's eyes a little curiously. ``Very
well. I'll take the hint--Michael Jeremiah.''

``Thanks.'' Arkwright relaxed a little. ``To
tell the truth, I've had quite enough now--of
Mary Jane.''

``Very good. So be it,'' nodded the other, still
regarding his friend thoughtfully. ``But tell me
--what of yourself?''

Arkwright shrugged his shoulders.

``There's nothing to tell. You've seen. I'm
here.''

``Humph! Very pretty,'' scoffed Calderwell.
``Then if _you_ won't tell, I _will_. I saw Billy a
month ago, you see. It seems you've hit the trail
for Grand Opera, as you threatened to that night
in Paris; but you _haven't_ brought up in vaudeville,
as you prophesied you would do--though, for
that matter, judging from the plums some of the