stion, he added,
"and what a wife!"

"I don't understand you," said Tristrem, in a manner which, for him, was
defiant.

Whether or not Jones was a good sailor is a matter of small moment. In
any event he tacked at once.

"Bah! I am speaking in the first person. I don't believe in matrimony
myself, I am too poor. And besides, I never heard of but one happy
marriage, and that was between a blind man and a deaf-mute. Though even
then it must have been difficult to know what the woman thought. Now, in
regard to Miss Raritan, half the men in the city are after her, _pour le
bon motif, s'entend_; but when a girl has had the _dessus du panier_ at
her feet, no fellow can afford to ask her to take a promenade with him
down the aisle of Grace Church, unless he has the Chemical Bank in one
pocket and the United States Trust Company in the other. _Et avec ca!_"
And Jones waved his head as though not over-sure that the coffers of
those institutions would suffice.

"I don't see what that has to do with it," Tristrem indignantly
interjected.

"Isn't that odd now?" was Jones' sarcastic reply. "Dr. Holmes says that
no fellow can be a thorough-going swell unless he has three generations
in oil. And mind you, daguerreotypes won't do. There are any number of
your ancestors strung along the walls of the Historical Society, and how
many more you may have in that crypt of yours in Waverley Place, heaven
only knows. Imprimis, if you accept Dr. Holmes as an authority, you are
a thorough-going swell. In the second place, you look like a Greek
shepherd. Third, you are the biggest catch in polite society. Certainly
it's odd that with such possibilities you should see no reason for not
marrying a girl who will want higher-stepping horses than Elisha's, and
who, while there is a bandit of a dressmaker in Paris, will decline to
imitate the lilies of the field. Certainly----"

"I never said anything about it, I never said anything about marrying or
not marrying----"

"Oh, didn't you? I thought you did." And Jones leaned back in his chair
and summoned a waiter with an upward movement of the chin. "Bring
another pint of this, will you."

"I think I won't take anything more," said Tristrem, rising from the
table as he spoke. "It's hot in here. I may see you down-stairs." And
with that he left the room.

Mr. Alphabet Jones looked after him a second and nodded sagaciously to
himself. "Another man overboard," he muttered, as he toyed with his
e