tered
table near her easel. Inasmuch as her eyes were for the moment diverted
from him he succeeded in recovering some of his customary wits.

"Speak? Speak! I've got so much to speak that I'm smothered with talk,"
he replied. "Aren't you going to shake hands before I begin?"

"I suppose it's polite," she said, extending a hand which, with all the
delightful inconsequence of a man infatuated with love, he had
frequently craved to hold forever. "Suppose you sit down to tell it!"
she suggested, withdrawing her hand from his. "I'm--I'm rather curious
to hear you talk."

"Why?" he asked. "Don't I talk enough--usually?"

"Yes, but----" She stopped, appeared to hesitate, and then almost
irrelevantly said "You've never said what you thought of my work. Do you
think I should continue it, or drop it?"

Jimmy was so astonished by the unexpected that he forgot his
embarrassment.

"Drop it? Of course not. How absurd! It was never in me to do anything
very well," he added almost wistfully, "for I have no gifts. But if I
could sing even a little, I would cultivate my voice. And if I but knew
how to paint at all, I would work to paint better, always hoping that
some time I might do at least one picture. But--isn't it unusual for you
to be either discouraged, or questioning?"

"Perhaps," she said, looking away from him. "But--suppose I had to give
it up?"

"Why?" he cried solicitously. And then, remembering that all his recent
worries had been of a financial nature, he was fearful that some wolf of
poverty had thrust its head into the studio door. "If--if--it's money
that keeps you from going ahead as you have been, I--look here! Your
work mustn't stop. We're too good friends to be falsely modest. If--if
you're broke, I'd like to let you have some money. I haven't got much,
but--Mary--I'm going to make some. I'll--I'll buy a picture. I'd like
one. I've always wanted one of yours."

She smiled a trifle sadly and shook her head in negation. He thought she
doubted the affluence of a mere chocolate salesman and it brought his
mind back to his own good news.

"See here, Mary Allen," he expostulated, "a lot of things have happened
since I saw you last. I'm no longer Jimmy Gollop, candy drummer. I'm Mr.
James Gollop, Sales Manager for one of the best institutions on earth,
and I'm going to make good. I know I shall. I feel it here," and he
tapped his breast with his knuckles. She did not observe his gesture,
for she had turned st