thful as a phonograph."

"Tell him this, then." She ticked the message off on her fingers. "A
half is not exactly the same as a whole. Don't forget the 'exactly.'"

"Is this an occasion for mathematical axioms?" I demanded. But she had
already gone, with a parting injunction to be precise.

When, three days thereafter, I retailed that banality to young Mr. Dyke,
it produced a startling though not instantaneous effect.

"I've got it!" he shouted.

"Don't scare me off my bench! What is it you've got?"

"The answer. She said he was not exactly her brother."

"Who?"

"That bully-looking big chap in the roadster who took her away." He
delivered this shameless reversal of a passionately asserted opinion
without a quiver. "Now she says a half isn't exactly the same as a
whole. He wasn't exactly her brother, she said; he's her half brother.
'Toora-loora-loo,' as we say in Patagonia."

"For Patagonia it sounds reasonable. What next?"

"Next and immediately," said Mr. Dyke, "I am obtaining an address from
the Mordaunt Estate, and I am then taking this evening off."

"Take some advice also, my boy," said I, mindful of the butterfly's
alarms. "Go slow."

"Slow! Haven't I lost time enough already?"

"Perhaps. But now you've got all there is. Don't force the game. You've
frightened that poor child so that she never can feel sure what you're
going to do next."

"Neither can I, Dominie," confessed the candid youth. "But you're quite
right. I'll clamp on the brakes. I'll be as cool and conventional as a
slice of lemon on an iced clam. 'How well you're looking to-night, Miss
Leffingwell'--that'll be my nearest approach to unguarded personalities.
Trust me, Dominie, and thank you for the tip."

The memorial and erratic clock of Our Square was just striking seven of
the following morning, meaning approximately eight-forty, when my
astonished eyes again beheld Martin Dyke seated on my bench, beautifully
though inappropriately clad in full evening dress with a pink rose in
his coat lapel, and gazing at Number 37 with a wild, ecstatic glare.

"What have you been doing here all night?" I asked.

"Thinking."

I pointed to the flower. "Where did you get that?"

"A fairy gift."

"Martin," said I, "did you abide by my well-meant and inspired advice?"

"Dominie," replied the youth with a guilty flush, "I did my best. I--I
tried to. You mustn't think--Nothing is settled. It's only that--"

"It's only that Age is a fool to