e the best. He is a
nice boy. Boy! What am I talking about? He is as old as I am. But he is
the kind of man who always seems a boy, and everybody who has known him
two days calls him Charlie.

Rachel Percival never thought much of him. She said he was weak, and
weakness in a man is something Rachel never excuses. She says it is
trespassing on one of the special privileges of our sex. Thus she disposed
of Charlie Hardy.

"Look at his chin," said Rachel; "could a man be strong with a chin like
that?"

"But he is so kind-hearted and easy to get along with," I urged.

"Very likely. He hasn't strength of mind to quarrel. He is unwilling, like
most easy-going men, to inflict that kind of pain. But he could be as
cruel as the grave in other ways. Look at him. He always is in hot water
about something, and never does as people expect him to do."

"But he doesn't do wrong on purpose, and he makes charming excuses and
apologies."

"He ought to; he has had enough practice," answered Rachel, with her
beautiful smile. "He has what I call a conscience for surface things. He
regards life from the wrong point of view, and, as to his always intending
to do right--you know the place said to be paved with good intentions. No,
no, Ruth. Charlie Hardy is a dangerous man, because he is weak. Through
such men as he comes very bitter sorrow in this world."

That conversation, Tabby, took place, if not before you were created, at
least in your early infancy--the time when your own weight threw you down
if you tried to walk, and when ears and tail were the least of your
make-up.

All these years Charlie has never married, but was always with the girls.
He dropped with perfect composure from our set to Sallie Cox's--was her
slave for two years, though Sallie declares that she never was engaged to
him. "What's the use of being engaged to a man that you can keep on hand
without?" quoth Sallie. But Charlie bore no malice. "I didn't stand the
ghost of a show with a girl like Sallie, when she had such men as Winston
Percival and those literary chaps around her. It was great sport to watch
her with those men. You know what a little chatterbox she is. By Jove!
when that fellow Percival began to talk, Sallie never had a word to say
for herself. It must have been awfully hard for her, but she certainly let
him do all the talking, and just sat and listened, looking as sweet as a
peach. Oh! I never had any chance with Sallie."

Nevertheless, he w