mal heat, germs and
all."

Molly was vastly amused and interested in her neighbor and her evident
rivalry with the long-haired cubist, whom she now saw daintily picking
his way across the court, in velveteen jacket and Byronic collar with
the loose flowing tie common in the Latin Quarter. In his hand he held a
stiff bouquet of red and yellow chrysanthemums, which, bowing low, he
presented to Jo as she jerked the door open at his knock.

"The flower which you most resemble, I bring as an offering of----"

"Stuff and nonsense! That's a nice thing to tell a girl: that she looks
like a ragged chrysanthemum! I have brushed my hair, too, so your
'comparison is odious.' I have a great mind not to introduce you to Miss
Brown just to pay you back for being so saucy."

But Mr. Perkins did not wait for the formal introduction. He came into
the studio, his pasty face beaming, and gave Molly's hand a cordial
shake. Then the others began to arrive: Mrs. Brown, Judy and Elise, Mr.
Kinsella and Pierce.

"Polly, put the kettle on and we'll all have tea," sang Jo, and the
obedient Mr. Perkins did her bidding. In a short while the water was
boiling and the tea put to draw, and Jo produced from her cupboard a
plate of Napoleons (that delicious pastry of Paris) and a _brioche_.

"Now, Jo Bill, that is mean to go have my kind of cake, too," exclaimed
Polly Perkins fretfully. "You know I never have Napoleons at my teas
because you call them yours, but _brioche_ has always been mine; and
when I have our neighbors in to my studio, what can I give them? I did
not know you could be so sneaky."

Strange to tell, Jo took the repulse quite meekly and confessed that it
was low, but there were not enough Napoleons at the _patisserie_ and she
had to fill out with something else.

"Please don't be cross, Polly. I got _brioche_ because I know you like
it so much. I like macaroons myself," and she helped the indignant
cubist to a generous slice of his favorite cake and he was mollified.

The party was very gay. Jo proved to be a singularly tactful hostess and
put them at their ease immediately. The tea was perfect.

"Where on earth do you get it?" asked Mrs. Brown as she accepted a
second cup.

"Smuggle it," responded Jo. "Every time I go to California I bring
enough back to run me for a year; enough for Polly, too. The custom
house officials never hunt through my luggage for tea. They often remark
that I am 'not the tea drinking type', but P