. This angel who was begging him to come
to her rescue was something too heavenly for chowder, and as for
hats--golden, jewelled crowns for her!

"Say," said John Hopkins, "just show me the guy that you've got the
grouch at. I've neglected my talents as a scrapper heretofore, but
this is my busy night."

"He is in there," said the lady, pointing to a closed door. "Come.
Are you sure that you do not falter or fear?"

"Me?" said John Hopkins. "Just give me one of those roses in the
bunch you are wearing, will you?"

The lady gave him a red, red rose. John Hopkins kissed it, stuffed it
into his vest pocket, opened the door and walked into the room. It
was a handsome library, softly but brightly lighted. A young man was
there, reading.

"Books on etiquette is what you want to study," said John Hopkins,
abruptly. "Get up here, and I'll give you some lessors. Be rude to a
lady, will you?"

The young man looked mildly surprised. Then he arose languidly,
dextrously caught the arms of John Hopkins and conducted him
irresistibly to the front door of the house.

"Beware, Ralph Branscombe," cried the lady, who had followed, "what
you do to the gallant man who has tried to protect me."

The young man shoved John Hopkins gently out the door and then closed
it.

"Bess," he said calmly, "I wish you would quit reading historical
novels. How in the world did that fellow get in here?"

"Armand brought him," said the young lady. "I think you are awfully
mean not to let me have that St. Bernard. I sent Armand for Walter. I
was so angry with you."

"Be sensible, Bess," said the young man, taking her arm. "That dog
isn't safe. He has bitten two or three people around the kennels.
Come now, let's go tell auntie we are in good humor again."

Arm in arm, they moved away.

John Hopkins walked to his flat. The janitor's five-year-old daughter
was playing on the steps. Hopkins gave her a nice, red rose and
walked upstairs.

Mrs. Hopkins was philandering with curl-papers.

"Get your cigar?" she asked, disinterestedly.

"Sure," said Hopkins, "and I knocked around a while outside. It's a
nice night."

He sat upon the hornblende sofa, took out the stump of his cigar,
lighted it, and gazed at the graceful figures in "The Storm" on the
opposite wall.

"I was telling you," said he, "about Mr. Whipple's suit. It's a gray,
with an invisible check, and it looks fine."

III

A LICKPENNY LOVER

There, were 3,000 girls in