ks, was very handsome, too.

"Look, Samuel," she said, touching his hand. "See that good-looking
couple over there."

But Samuel was looking at them already--intently. And just then the
beautiful woman turned and, catching sight of the Tutts, smiled
cordially if somewhat roguishly and raised her glass, as did her
companion. Mechanically Tutt elevated his. The three drank to one
another.

"Do you know those people, Samuel?" inquired Mrs. Tutt somewhat stiffly.
"Who are they?"

"Oh, those over there?" he repeated absently. "I don't really know what
the lady's name is, she's been down to our office a few times. But the
man is Winthrop Oaklander--and the funny part of it is, I always thought
he was a clergyman."

Later in the evening he turned to her between the acts and remarked
inconsequently: "Say, Abbie, do I look as if I'd just had my hair cut?"

The Dog Andrew

"Every dog is entitled to one bite."--UNREPORTED
OPINION OF THE APPELLATE DIVISION OF THE NEW
YORK SUPREME COURT.

"Now see here!" shouted Mr. Appleboy, coming out of the boathouse, where
he was cleaning his morning's catch of perch, as his neighbor Mr.
Tunnygate crashed through the hedge and cut across Appleboy's parched
lawn to the beach. "See here, Tunnygate, I won't have you trespassing on
my place! I've told you so at least a dozen times! Look at the hole
you've made in that hedge, now! Why can't you stay in the path?"

His ordinarily good-natured countenance was suffused with anger and
perspiration. His irritation with Mr. Tunnygate had reached the point of
explosion. Tunnygate was a thankless friend and he was a great cross to
Mr. Appleboy. Aforetime the two had been intimate in the fraternal,
taciturn intimacy characteristic of fat men, an attraction perhaps akin
to that exerted for one another by celestial bodies of great mass, for
it is a fact that stout people do gravitate toward one another--and hang
or float in placid juxtaposition, perhaps merely as a physical result of
their avoirdupois. So Appleboy and Tunnygate had swum into each other's
spheres of influence, either blown by the dallying winds of chance or
drawn by some mysterious animal magnetism, and, being both addicted to
the delights of the soporific sport sanctified by Izaak Walton, had
raised unto themselves portable temples upon the shores of Long Island
Sound in that part of the geographical limits of the Greater City known
as Throggs Neck.

Every morn durin