tration: 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:

"We went to see the Ostrich Farm yesterday. It was really very
interesting. C."

III

For quite a long time Stanton lay and considered the matter judicially
from every possible point of view. "It would have been rather
pleasant," he mused "to know who 'we' were." Almost childishly his
face cuddled into the pillow. "She might at least have told me the
name of the ostrich!" he smiled grimly.

Thus quite utterly denied any nourishing Cornelia-flavored food for
his thoughts, his hungry mind reverted very naturally to the
tantalizing, evasive, sweetly spicy fragrance of the 'Molly'
episode--before the really dreadful photograph of the unhappy
spinster-lady had burst upon his blinking vision.

Scowlingly he picked up the picture and stared and stared at it.
Certainly it was grim. But even from its grimness emanated the same
faint, mysterious odor of cinnamon roses that lurked in the
accompanying letter. "There's some dreadful mistake somewhere," he
insisted. Then suddenly he began to laugh, and reaching out once more
for pen and paper, inscribed his second letter and his first complaint
to the Serial-Letter Co.

"To the Serial-Letter Co.," he wrote sternly, with many ferocious
tremors of dignity and rheumatism.

"Kindly allow me to call attention to the fact that in my
recent order of the 18th inst., the specifications
distinctly stated 'love-letters', and _not_ any
correspondence whatsoever,--no matter how exhilarating from
either a 'Gray-Plush Squirrel' or a 'Banda Sea Pirate' as
evidenced by enclosed photograph which I am hereby
returning. Please refund money at once or forward me
without delay a consistent photograph of a 'special edition
de luxe' girl.

"Very truly yours."

The letter was mailed by the janitor long before noon. Even as late as
eleven o'clock that night Stanton was still hopefully expecting an
answer. Nor was he altogether