th a tendency towards gesticulation, an art which he had
learned in no less a school than the Ohio State Senate. He was a
self-made man,--a fact which he took good care should not escape
one,--and had amassed his money, I believe, in the dry-goods business.
He always wore a long, shiny coat, a low, turned-down collar, and a black
tie, all of which united to give him the general appearance of a
professional pallbearer.

But Mr. Trevor possessed a daughter who amply made up for his
shortcomings. She was the only one who could meet Farrar on his own
ground, and rarely a meal passed that they did not have a tilt. They
filled up the holes of the conversation with running commentaries, giving
a dig at the luckless narrator and a side-slap at each other, until one
would have given his oath they were sworn enemies. At least I, in the
innocence of my heart, thought so until I was forcibly enlightened.
I had taken rather a prejudice to Miss Trevor. I could find no better
reason than her antagonism to Farrar. I was revolving this very thing
in my mind one day as I was paddling back to the inn after a look at my
client's new pier and boat-houses, when I descried Farrar's catboat some
distance out. The lake was glass, and the sail hung lifeless. It was
near lunch-time, and charity prompted me to head for the boat and give it
a tow homeward. As I drew near, Farrar himself emerged from behind the
sail and asked me, with a great show of nonchalance, what I wanted.

"To tow you back for lunch, of course," I answered, used to his ways.

He threw me a line, which I made fast to the stern, and then he
disappeared again. I thought this somewhat strange, but as the boat was
a light one, I towed it in and hitched it to the wharf, when, to my great
astonishment, there disembarked not Farrar, but Miss Trevor. She leaped
lightly ashore and was gone before I could catch my breath, while Farrar
let down the sail and offered me a cigarette. I had learned a lesson in
appearances.

It could not have been very long after this that I was looking over my
batch of New York papers, which arrived weekly, when my eye was arrested
by a name. I read the paragraph, which announced the fact that my friend
the Celebrity was about to sail for Europe in search of "color" for his
next novel; this was already contracted for at a large price, and was to
be of a more serious nature than any of his former work. An interview
was published in which the Celebrity had d