lian eyes sparkling with fun. "I beg your pardon!"
the man gurgled. "I was wondering which is older, your _Je Sais Tout_ or
my _Illustration_? Mine's the Christmas number of 1909."

"Yours has the advantage in age," I replied, without a smile. "Mine goes
back only to 1912."

"Ah! I'm glad to score that one point," he said, still laughing. "Dear
Miss O'Malley, won't you please sit down? I'm a lazy fellow, and I'm so
tired of standing! Now, don't begin by being cross with me because I
call you 'dear.' If you realized what I've done for you, and what I'm
ready to do, you'd say I'd earned _that_ right, to begin with!"

"I don't understand you at all, or why you should claim any right," I
hedged. But I sat down, and he sank so heavily into an ancient,
plush-covered chair that a spray of dust flew up from the cushions.

"I'm afraid I'm rather too fat!" he apologized. "But I always lose flesh
motoring, so you'll see a change for the better, I hope--in a week or
two. I expect our lines will be cast in the same places for some time
to come--if you're as wise as--as you are pretty. If not, I'm afraid you
and Mr. O'Malley won't be long with our party. I say, you are gorgeous
when you're in a rage! But why fly into a fury? You told me you didn't
understand things. I'm doing my best to explain."

"Then your best is very bad," I said.

"Sorry! I'll begin another way. Listen! I'm going to be perfectly frank.
Why not? We're birds of a feather. And the pot can't call the kettle
black. Maybe my similes are a bit mixed, but you'll excuse that, as
we're both Irish. Why, my being Irish--and Italian--is an explanation of
me in itself, if you'd take the trouble to study it. But look here! I
don't _want_ you to take any trouble. I don't want to _give_ you any
trouble. Now do you begin to see light?"

"No!" I threw at him.

"I don't believe you, dear girl. You malign your own wits. You pay
yourself worse compliments than I'd let any one else do! But I promised
not to keep you long. And if I break my promise it will be your
fault--because you're not reasonable. You're the pot and I'm the kettle,
because we're both tarred with the same brush. By the way, _are_ pots
and kettles blacked with tar? They look it. But that's a detail. My
sister and I are just as dead broke and down and out as you and your
brother are. I mean, as you _were_, and as you may be again, if you make
mistakes."

"I'd rather not bring my brother into this discussion,