d saw the three poems that
Alice had given him to read. He added a postscript to his letter to
Ernst. It read as follows:

"I enclose three poems written by the same person who
wrote the stories. Tell me what you think of them, and if
you can place them anywhere do so, and this shall be your
warrant therefor. Q.A.S."

When his mail was in readiness he went downstairs to the parlor, taking
a pen and bottle of ink with him, and saying to himself, "That pseudonym
shall not be written in pencil."

"I am in a state of hopeless indecision," remarked Alice. "I can think
of Christian names that please me, and surnames that please me, but when
I put them together they don't please me at all."

"Then we will leave it to fate," said Quincy. He tore a sheet of paper
into six pieces and passed three, with a book and pencil, to Alice. "Now
you write," said he, "three Christian names that please you, and I will
write three surnames that please me; then we will put the pieces in my
hat, and you will select two and what you select shall be the name."

"That's a capital idea," said Alice, "it is harder to select a name than
it was to write the story."

The slips were written, placed in the hat, shaken up, and Alice selected
two, which she held up for Quincy to read.

"This is not fair," said Quincy. "I never thought. Both of the slips are
mine. We must try again."

"No," said Alice, "it is 'Kismet.' What are the names?" she asked.

"Bruce Douglas, or Douglas Bruce, as you prefer," said Quincy.

"I like Bruce Douglas best," replied Alice.

"I am so glad," said Quincy, "that's the name I should have selected
myself."

"Then I will bear your name in future," said Alice, and Quincy thought
to himself that he wished she had said those words in response to a
question that was in his mind, but which he had decided it was not yet
time to ask her. He was too much of a gentleman to refer in a joking
manner to the words which Alice had spoken and which had been uttered
with no thought or idea that they bore a double meaning.

Quincy wrote the selected name in the blank space in Leopold's letter,
sealed it and took his mail out to the carriage driver, who was seated
in the kitchen enjoying a piece of mince pie and a mug of cider which
Mandy had given him.

As Quincy entered the kitchen he heard Mandy say, "How is 'Bias
nowadays?"

"Oh, dad's all right," said the young man; "he is going to run Wallace
Sta