not think that a make like that is good. It is quite wrong."

Hertha laughed acquiescence. She was having a good time and enjoying
Dick's ridiculous talk as hand after hand he kept up a stream of
comment. Mrs. Pickens laughed with them, but the fourth member of the
party became angry.

"This is not bridge," she said, her hands shaking as she picked up the
cards dealt her.

"Ain't it?" said Dick good-naturedly. "Well, it's fun, anyway."

He took an unconscionably long time to decide on the trump, clutching
his cards tightly, and wrinkling his forehead in imitation of his
indignant opponent.

"Oh, do make it something!" Mrs. Pickens urged him.

"Very well, hearts!" cried Dick, "Hearts, the best suit in the pack."

He broke into exaggerated praise of the quite ordinary hand Hertha
spread out for him. He loved the careful way in which she put each card
in sequence.

"The King of my suit!" he cried. "Didn't I know you had it! Saw it with
my poker eye. Ever play poker, Miss Hertha?"

He had asked the question before, and she did not trouble to answer him.
Not that he cared whether he was answered or not. He felt elated at his
day and at the evening that was bringing him such good fortune.

Talking steadily as he threw down his cards, he won a finesse, for by
this time Miss Wood had lost all track of the game.

"What did I tell you?" he cried to Hertha boisterously. "This is the
time we're going under and over both. Just you wait. Count the tricks!
One, two, three, four, five, six--only four more and the rubber's ours.
Watch me now! Just watch yours truly haul in the goods. Watch me----"

"Oh, stop talking, Dick," said Mrs. Pickens good-humoredly, "and play."

She was very fond of this southern lad, her one man boarder, and was
quite ready herself to frolic. But, seeing the thundercloud on her
partner's face, she endeavored to bring some seriousness into the
occasion.

"Well, here goes!" cried the young man. "My trump card!" and he flung
down the ace of hearts.

The deuce, tray and four spot fell upon it.

"One, two, three, four!" he called out. "Kiss the dealer!"

Leaning far over the table, his lips came within an inch of Hertha's
own.

She drew back, blushing crimson, her body stiff with antagonism. Mrs.
Pickens, to relieve the situation, put her arm around the youth's neck
and, drawing down his head, gave him the asked-for kiss. But she could
not resist murmuring, "A poor substitute."

"Three trick