is single sun was yourself. Keep away from Dad!"

His surmise that she was the daughter of a widow had thus been upset. It
was the first time he had been made aware that her father was alive.
Henceforth he must be circumspect with every male customer on his list
except jobbers and wholesalers. Any one of them might be the father of
Mary Allen, concealing a profound disapproval or active dislike. His
only hope was that this inimical one would betray his identity by
reference to the Horse Show!

He was unaware that daylight had given way to dark, that the lights were
on, and that he was still staring blankly out of the window until the
steward from the dining car tapped on his door and asked if he wished
supper.

"Yes, served in here," he replied, and so continued that pleasant
process of review and unpleasant consideration of obstacles. Not the
least ground for his happiness was the certainty that at last she did
have some name by which he could address her and a permanent address,
and--he liked that name, Mary Allen!

When he arrived at the hotel in Media City he discovered a strange air
of depression in the demeanor of the porters, bellboys and clerks until
he signed his name, when the ice thawed to a noticeable degree.

"What's the matter here?" he demanded of the girl behind the desk. "Am I
no longer popular around this caravanserai?"

"You are, Mr. Gollop," she replied with a laugh, "but the truth is that
since there are two of you we have to act cautiously until we find out
which one of you it is! Here, boy! Show Mr. Gollop up to sixty-one."

"I thought it was you, sir," said the boy with a grin that was at least
unrestrained. "I offered to bet it was you, and not that old stiff what
looks like you."

"Hello, Jim. Glad to see you again," said the manager, appearing in his
private office door. "Since that last trip of yours your double has been
here twice. First time everybody called him 'Jimmy,' and I had to
apologize again. Since then we've all been rather shy."

"Oh, you mean that judge, eh? Pleasant old party, isn't he!"

"Pleasant and palatable as castor oil mixed with asafetida," replied the
manager with a scowl. "But see here, Jimmy, he cuts considerable ice
here in this state. Don't forget that. And he doesn't like you at all,
at all. What he said when I explained that there was a drummer named
Gollop who looked like him wasn't flattering to you or to my sense of
observation. Seemed to take it as