e name of the fair Arabella. As he proceeded, his enthusiasm grew. He
added fine bits that had escaped Mr. Bland. He painted with free hand
the picture of tragedy's dark hour; the note hinting at suicide he gave
in full. Then he told of how his courage grew again, of how he put the
cowardice of death behind him, resolved to dare all--and live. He
finished at last, his voice husky with emotion. Out of the corner of his
eye he glanced triumphantly at Bland. That gentleman was gazing
thoughtfully at the blazing logs.

"You did quite right," commented Professor Bolton, "in making up your
mind to live. I congratulate you on your common sense. And perhaps, as
the years go by, you will realize that had you married your Arabella,
you would not have found life all honey and roses. She was fickle,
unworthy of you. Soon you will forget. Youth--ah, youth throws off its
sorrow like a cloak. A figure not original with me. And now--the
gentleman in the--er--the bed quilt. Has he, too, a story?"

"Yes," laughed Mr. Magee, "let's hear now from the gentleman in the bed
quilt. Has he, too, a story? And if so, what is it?"

He smiled delightedly into the eyes of Bland. What would the
ex-haberdasher do, shorn of his fictional explanation? Would he rise in
his wrath and denounce the man who had stolen his Arabella? Mr. Bland
smiled back. He stood up. And a contingency that had not entered Mr.
Magee's mind came to be.

Mr. Bland walked calmly to the table, and picked up a popular novel that
lay thereon. On its cover was the picture of a very beautiful maiden.

"See that dame?" he inquired of the professor. "Sort of makes a man sit
up and take notice, doesn't she? Even the frost-bitten haberdasher here
has got to admit that in some ways she has this Arabella person looking
like a faded chromo in your grandmother's parlor on a rainy afternoon.
Ever get any notion, Professor, the way a picture like that boosts a
novel in the busy marts of trade? No? Well--"

Mr. Bland continued. Mr. Magee leaned back, overjoyed, in his chair.
Here was a man not to be annoyed by the mere filching of his story. Here
was a man with a sense of humor--an opponent worthy his foe's best
efforts. In his role of a haberdasher overcome with woe, Mr. Magee
listened.

"I used to paint dames like that," Bland was saying to the dazed
professor. He explained how his pictures had enabled many a novelist to
"eat up the highway in a buzz-wagon." As he approached the time w