"Does it?"

The question was indifferent. So indifferent, in the face of a
matter of such moment, that Hamilton Spence writhed upon his couch.
Here at least there was room for genuine missionary work. He cleared
his throat.

"I will tell you just how much it matters," he began firmly. But the
fates were not with him, neither was his audience. Attracted by some
movement which he had missed she, the audience, had slipped to the
door, and was opening it cautiously.

"What is it?" asked the baffled lecturer crossly.

"S-ssh! I think it's Sami."

"A tame bear?"

"No. Wait. I'll prop you up so you can see him. Look, behind the
veranda post."

The professor looked and forgot about the value of authenticity; for
from behind the veranda post a most curious face was peeping--a
round, solemn baby face of cafe au lait with squat, wide nose and
flat-set eyes.

"A Jap?" exclaimed Spence in surprise.

"No. He's Indian. Some of the babies are so Japaneesy that it's hard