ccasionally a donation came in, by way of variety, from
Smeaton and Holbrook and Caswell and other solitary creations of my
mendacious imagination, when I used to blind poor dear Alice to the
hideous truth. Touching myself, I gave it out that I had abandoned
book-buying, was convinced of the folly of the mania, had reformed, and
was repentant. Alice loved me all the better for that, and she became
once more the sweetest, most amiable little woman in all the world.
She was inexpressibly happy in the fond delusion that I had become
prudent and thrifty, and was putting money in bank for that home we
were going to buy--sometime.

Meanwhile the names of Flail, Trask, and Bisland became household words
with us. Occasionally Smeaton and Holbrook and Caswell were mentioned
gratefully as some fair volume bearing their autograph was inspected;
but, after all, Flail, Trask, and Bisland were the favorites, for it
was from them that most of my beloved books came. Yes, Alice gradually
grew to love those three myths; she loved them because they were good
to me.

Alice had, like most others of her sex, a strong sense of duty. She
determined to do something for my noble friends, and finally she
planned a lovely little dinner whereat Judge Trask and Colonel Flail
and Mr. Bisland were to be regaled with choicest viands of Alice's
choice larder and with the sweetest speeches of Alice's graceful heart.
I was authorized only to convey the invitations to this delectable
banquet, and here was a pretty plight for a man to be in, surely
enough! But my bachelor friend Kinzie (ough, the Mephisto!) helped me
out. I reported back to Alice that Judge Trask was out of town, that
Colonel Flail was sick abed with grip, and that Mr. Bisland was
altogether too shy a man to think of venturing out to a dinner alone.
Alice was dreadfully disappointed. Still there was consolation in
feeling that she had done her duty in trying to do it.

Well, this system of deception and perjury went on a long time, Alice
never suspecting any evil, but perfectly happy in my supposed reform
and economy, and in the gracious liberality of those three
Maecenas-like friends, Flail, Trask, and Bisland, who kept pouring in
rare and beauteous old tomes upon me. She was joyous, too, in the
prospect of that new house which we would soon be able to build, now
that I had so long quit the old ruinous mania for book-buying! And
I--wretch that I was--I humored her in this conc