hes some, but her eyes never get mixed
up. They look straight at whatever she's talking to.

"'I never had any one talk like this to me before, Mr. Pescud,' says
she. 'What did you say your name is--John?'

"'John A.,' says I.

"'And you came mighty near missing the train at Powhatan Junction,
too,' says she, with a laugh that sounded as good as a mileage-book to
me.

"'How did you know?' I asked.

"'Men are very clumsy,' said she. 'I knew you were on every train. I
thought you were going to speak to me, and I'm glad you didn't.'

"Then we had more talk; and at last a kind of proud, serious look came
on her face, and she turned and pointed a finger at the big house.

"'The Allyns,' says she, 'have lived in Elmcroft for a hundred years.
We are a proud family. Look at that mansion. It has fifty rooms.
See the pillars and porches and balconies. The ceilings in the
reception-rooms and the ball-room are twenty-eight feet high. My
father is a lineal descendant of belted earls.'

"'I belted one of 'em once in the Duquesne Hotel, in Pittsburgh,'
says I, 'and he didn't offer to resent it. He was there dividing his
attentions between Monongahela whiskey and heiresses, and he got
fresh.'

"'Of course,' she goes on, 'my father wouldn't allow a drummer to set
his foot in Elmcroft. If he knew that I was talking to one over the
fence he would lock me in my room.'

"'Would _you_ let me come there?' says I. 'Would _you_ talk to me
if I was to call? For,' I goes on, 'if you said I might come and
see you, the earls might be belted or suspendered, or pinned up with
safety-pins, as far as I am concerned.'

"'I must not talk to you,' she says, 'because we have not been
introduced. It is not exactly proper. So I will say good-bye, Mr.--'

"'Say the name,' says I. 'You haven't forgotten it.'

"'Pescud,' says she, a little mad.

"'The rest of the name!' I demands, cool as could be.

"'John,' says she.

"'John--what?' I says.

"'John A.,' says she, with her head high. 'Are you through, now?'

"'I'm coming to see the belted earl to-morrow,' I says.

"'He'll feed you to his fox-hounds,' says she, laughing.

"'If he does, it'll improve their running,' says I. 'I'm something of
a hunter myself.'

"'I must be going in now,' says she. 'I oughtn't to have spoken to you
at all. I hope you'll have a pleasant trip back to Minneapolis--or
Pittsburgh, was it? Good-bye!'

"'Good-night,' says I, 'and it wasn't Minneapolis. What's