includes your dues for five years and a free
subscription to the society's monthly magazine, _The Fly-Paper_----"

"Scott, don't do it. You get one of those kind of things every day!"
exclaimed Geraldine. "They only want your $25, anyway."

"It's an innocent recreation," grinned Duane. "Why not let Scott append
to his signature--'M.I.E.S.E.O.N.J.'--Member International Entomological
Society, East Orange, New Jersey. It only costs $25 to do it----"

"That's all right," said Scott, reddening, "but possibly they may have
read my paper on the Prionians in the last Yonkers _Magazine of
Science_. It wasn't a perfectly rotten paper, was it, Kathleen?"

"It was mighty clever!" she said warmly. "Don't mind those two scoffers,
Scott. If you take my advice you will join this East Orange Society.
That would make six scientific societies he has joined since Christmas,"
she continued, turning on Duane with severe pride; adding, "and there's
a different coloured ribbon decoration for his buttonhole from each
society."

But Duane and Geraldine were very disrespectful; they politely offered
each other memberships in all sorts of societies, including one yard of
ribbon decoration, one sleigh-bell, and five green trading stamps, until
Scott hurled an orange at Duane, who caught it and blew a kiss at him as
recompense.

Then they went outside, on Scott's curt invitation, and wrestled and
scuffled and scrubbed each other's faces with snow like schoolboys,
until, declaring they were hungry again, they came back to the
breakfast-room and demanded more muffins and sausages and coffee.

Kathleen rang and, leaning over, handed Geraldine a brief letter from
Rosalie Dysart:

"Do you think Geraldine would ask me up for a few days?" it began.
"I'm horribly lonesome and unhappy and I'm being talked about, and
I'd rather be with you wholesome people than with anybody I know,
if you don't mind my making a refuge of your generosity. I'm a real
victim of that dreadful sheet in town, which we all have a contempt
for and never subscribe to, and which some of us borrow from our
maids or read at our modistes--the sheet that some of us are
genuinely afraid of--and part of our fear is that it may neglect
us! You know, don't you, what really vile things it is saying about
me? If you don't, your servants do.

"So if you'd rather not have me, I won't be offended, and, anyway,
you are dear and decent pe