and self-exaltation he so vividly imagined himself as a rescuer, as an
able-bodied defender against all the ills and evils that beset her,
that the fancy took the shape of positive determination. He made up
his mind to take her off the stage, back to Blakeville, and to an
environment so sweet and pure that her life would be one long season
of joy and happiness.

With the growth of this resolution he began to plan his own personal
rehabilitation. First of all, he would let his face recover its
natural shape; then he would cultivate muscle and brawn at the
emporium of Professor Flaherty; moreover, he would devote considerable
attention to his own personal appearance and to the habits of the
"men about town." He would fight the tempters with their own
weapons--the corkscrew, the lobster pick, the knife and fork, and the
nut-splitter!

He did not emerge from the house for five days. By that time he was
fairly presentable.

It was Annie's day out, so he took Phoebe for a little walk. As for
Phoebe, she never passed a certain door upstairs without kicking at it
with first one, then the other of her tiny feet, in revenge for the
way it had hurt her father by remaining open so that he could bump
into it on that bloody, terrifying day. She sent little darts of
exquisite pain through him by constantly alluding to the real
devastator as "that nice Mr. Fairy-fax." It was her pleasure to regard
him as a great big fairy who had promised her in secret that she would
some day be like Cinderella and have all the riches the slipper
showered upon that poor little lady.

As they were returning home after a stroll through a rather remote
street, they came upon Mr. Butler, who was down on his knees fixing
something or other about his automobile. Harvey thought it a good
opportunity to start his crusade against New York City.

"Hello," he said, halting. Butler looked up. He was mad as a wet hen
to begin with.

"Hello," he snarled, resuming his work.

"I've been thinking about that little----"

"Get out of the light, will you?"

Harvey moved over, dragging Phoebe after him.

"That little scheme of ours to dine together in town some night. You
remember we talked about it----"

"No, I don't," snapped Butler.

"We might lunch together early next week. I know a nice little place
on Seventh Avenue where you get fine spaghetti. We----"

"I'm booked for a whole month of luncheons," said Butler, sitting back
on his heels to stare at