smooth, high-polished gent as a rule; but after Ruby has turned that
stupid, stary look on him, without battin' an eyelash or liftin' an
eyebrow, the smile fades out. She don't say a word or make a move: just
continues to stare. As for Oakley, he shifts uneasy on his feet and
flushes up under the eyes.

"Well?" says he. "I trust you remember me?"

Ruby shakes her head slow. "No, Sir," says she.

"Eh?" says Oakley. "Weren't you a waitress at the Lakeside Hotel last
summer?"

"Certainly, Sir," says Ruby.

"And didn't you bring me my meals three times a day for four mortal
weeks?" he insists.

"Did I?" says Ruby, starin' stupider than ever.

"Great Scott, young woman!" breaks out Oakley. "Didn't you look at me
long enough and steadily enough to remember? Don't you recall I was
disagreeable enough to ask you not to watch me eat?"

"Oh!" says Ruby, a flicker of almost human intelligence in her big eyes.
"The one who wanted hot plates!"

"At last," says Oakley, "I am properly identified. Yes, I am the
hot-plate person."

"You had tea for breakfast too, didn't you?" asks Ruby.

"Always," says he. "An eccentricity of mine."

"And you put salt on your muskmelon, and wanted your eggs opened, and
didn't like tomato soup," adds Ruby, like she was repeatin' a lesson.

"Guilty on all three counts," says Mr. Mills.

"I tried to remember," says Ruby, sort of meek.

"Tried!" gasps Oakley. "Why, you made an art of it. You never so much
as---- But tell me, was it those foolish little whims of mine you were
thinking so hard about while you stood there gazing so intently at me?"

Ruby nods; a shy, bashful little nod.

Mr. Mills makes a low bow. "A thousand pardons, my dear young lady!"
says he. "I stand convicted of utter selfishness. But perhaps I can
atone."

And with that he proceeds to put his proposition up to her. He tells her
about the play, the trouble he's had tryin' to fit one special part, and
how he's sure she could do it to a T. He asks her to give it a try.

"Go on the stage!" says Ruby, her big eyes starin' at him like he'd
asked her to jump off the Metropolitan Tower. "No, I don't think I
could. I'm going to be a foreign missionary, you know."

"A--a what?" gasps Oakley. "Missionary! But see here--that can wait. And
in one season on the stage you could make----"

Well, I must say Oakley argued it well and put it strong; but he'd have
produced just as good results if he'd been out in the square ask