blic Sentiment Corps, H. R.
commanded Andrew Barrett to tip off the friendly reporters--Andrew by
this time was calling them by their first name--to watch the Goodchild
residence on Fifth Avenue and also the Ketcham National Bank on Nassau
Street.

Thinking that this meant elopement up-town and shooting down-town, the
reporters despatched the sob artists to Fifth Avenue and the veteran
death-watch to the bank.

They were rewarded.

Parading up and down the Goodchild block on the Avenue were six
sandwich-men. They carried the swellest sandwiches in Christendom. This
was the first use of the famous iridescent glass mosaic sandwich in
history. It was exquisitely beautiful. But the legends were even more
beautiful:

[Illustration: I SHALL MARRY GRACE GOODCHILD NO MATTER WHO SAYS NO!]

This last he stationed in front of the Goodchild house.

Across the street, leaning against the Central Park wall, was Morris
Lazarus, Mr. Onthemaker's able associate counsel. His pockets were
bulging with numbered legal documents in anticipation of hostilities
from Christians, policemen, and other aliens. He had told the reporters
that he was one of Mr. Rutgers's counsel and did not propose to allow
the sandwich-men to be interfered with by anybody. He also distributed
his card, that the name might not be misspelled. He had not yet changed
Morris into Maurice.

[Illustration: NO OPPOSITION CAN KEEP ME FROM MARRYING GRACE GOODCHILD]

[Illustration: SEE THE NEWSPAPERS FOR ACCOUNTS OF THE MARRIAGE OF GRACE
GOODCHILD TO HENDRIK RUTGERS]

[Illustration: WEDDING OF GRACE GOODCHILD AND HENDRIK RUTGERS FOR DATE
WATCH THIS SPACE]

[Illustration: ALL THE WORLD LOVES A LOVER. LOVE GRACE GOODCHILD AND ME
TOO]

[Illustration: DO YOU BLAME ME FOR WISHING TO MARRY THE MOST BEAUTIFUL
GIRL IN THE WHOLE WORLD? SHE LIVES HERE!]

The sandwiches paraded up and down the Avenue sidewalk, never once going
off the block. As two of the artists passed each other they saluted--the
sandwich union's sign a rigid forefinger drawn quickly across the throat
with a decapitating sweep: lambs expecting execution in the world's vast
abattoir. The answering sign was a quick mouthward motion of the rigid
thumb to represent the assuaging of thirst at the close of day. Thus did
H. R. reward industry.

Before the sandwich-men had made the beat a dozen times all upper Fifth
Avenue heard about it. A stream of limousines, preciously freighted,
halted before the Goodchi