an opposite. "Well, I'll own those
initials have been something of a puzzle to people. One man declares
they're 'Merely Jokes'; but another, not so friendly, says they stand
for 'Mostly Jealousy' of more fortunate chaps who have real names for
a handle. My small brothers and sisters, discovering, with the usual
perspicacity of one's family on such matters, that I never signed, or
called myself anything but 'M. J.,' dubbed me 'Mary Jane.' And there you
have it."

"Mary Jane! You!"

Arkwright smiled oddly.

"Oh, well, what's the difference? Would you deprive them of their
innocent amusement? And they do so love that 'Mary Jane'! Besides,
what's in a name, anyway?" he went on, eyeing the glowing tip of the
cigar between his fingers. "'A rose by any other name--'--you've
heard that, probably. Names don't always signify, my dear fellow. For
instance, I know a 'Billy'--but he's a girl."

Calderwell gave a sudden start.

"You don't mean Billy--Neilson?"

The other turned sharply.

"Do _you_ know Billy Neilson?"

Calderwell gave his friend a glance from scornful eyes.

"Do I know Billy Neilson?" he cried. "Does a fellow usually know the
girl he's proposed to regularly once in three months? Oh, I know I'm
telling tales out of school, of course," he went on, in response to the
look that had come into the brown eyes opposite. "But what's the use?
Everybody knows it--that knows us. Billy herself got so she took it as
a matter of course--and refused as a matter of course, too; just as she
would refuse a serving of apple pie at dinner, if she hadn't wanted it."

"Apple pie!" scouted Arkwright.

Calderwell shrugged his shoulders.

"My dear fellow, you don't seem to realize it, but for the last six
months you have been assisting at the obsequies of a dead romance."

"Indeed! And is it--buried, yet?"

"Oh, no," sighed Calderwell, cheerfully. "I shall go back one of these
days, I'll warrant, and begin the same old game again; though I will
acknowledge that the last refusal was so very decided that it's been a
year, almost, since I received it. I think I was really convinced, for
a while, that--that she didn't want that apple pie," he finished with
a whimsical lightness that did not quite coincide with the stern lines
that had come to his mouth.

For a moment there was silence, then Calderwell spoke again.

"Where did you know--Miss Billy?"

"Oh, I don't know her at all. I know of her--through Aunt Hannah."

Calder