me cigar and drink the same tea (he's just as much of
an old woman on that subject as I am!), and we agree beautifully on
all necessary points of living, from tipping to late sleeping in the
morning; while as for politics and religion--we disagree in those just
enough to lend spice to an otherwise tame existence."

Farther along in this same letter Calderwell touched upon his new friend
again.

"I admit, however, I would like to know his name. To find out what that
mysterious 'M. J.' stands for has got to be pretty nearly an obsession
with me. I am about ready to pick his pocket or rifle his trunk in
search of some lurking 'Martin' or 'John' that will set me at peace. As
it is, I confess that I have ogled his incoming mail and his outgoing
baggage shamelessly, only to be slapped in the face always and
everlastingly by that bland 'M. J.' I've got my revenge, now, though. To
myself I call him 'Mary Jane'--and his broad-shouldered, brown-bearded
six feet of muscular manhood would so like to be called 'Mary Jane'!
By the way, Belle, if you ever hear of murder and sudden death in my
direction, better set the sleuths on the trail of Arkwright. Six to one
you'll find I called him 'Mary Jane' to his face!"

Calderwell was thinking of that letter now, as he sat at a small table
in a Paris cafe. Opposite him was the six feet of muscular manhood,
broad shoulders, pointed brown beard, and all--and he had just addressed
it, inadvertently, as "Mary Jane."

During the brief, sickening moment of silence after the name had left
his lips, Calderwell was conscious of a whimsical realization of the
lights, music, and laughter all about him.

"Well, I chose as safe a place as I could!" he was thinking. Then
Arkwright spoke.

"How long since you've been in correspondence with members of my
family?"

"Eh?"

Arkwright laughed grimly.

"Perhaps you thought of it yourself, then--I'll admit you're capable of
it," he nodded, reaching for a cigar. "But it so happens you hit upon my
family's favorite name for me."

"_Mary Jane!_ You mean they actually _call_ you that?"

"Yes," bowed the big fellow, calmly, as he struck a light.
"Appropriate!--don't you think?"

Calderwell did not answer. He thought he could not.

"Well, silence gives consent, they say," laughed the other. "Anyhow, you
must have had _some_ reason for calling me that."

"Arkwright, what _does_ 'M. J.' stand for?" demanded Calderwell.

"Oh, is that it?" smiled the m