modified to Condy, or even, among his familiar and intimate friends, to Conny. Asked as to his birthplace-for no Californian assumes that his neighbor is born in the State-Condy was wont to repl

ndy had developed a taste and talent in the matter of writing. Short stories were his mania. He had begun by an inoculation of the Kipling virus, had suffered an almost fatal attack of Harding Davis, and had even been affected by Maupassant. He "we

ce a month, however, he wrote a short story, and of late, now that he was convalescing from Maupassant and had begun to be somewhat

, tossed his stick into a porcelain cane-rack in the hall, wrenched off his overcoat with a s

el. Unlike most writing folk, he dressed himself according to prevailing custom. But Condy overdid the matter. His scarfs and cravats were too bright, his colored shirt-bosoms were too broadly

Don't get up, sir-don't THINK of it! Heavens! I'm disgustingly late. You're all through. My watch-th

k of blankness on Travis' face, and his rapid glance noted

u said-I thought-I must have forgotten-I must have got it mixed up

he wall and mopped his forehead w

ke, Condy?" said Travis quietly.

"I won't hear of it, I won't permit

e a place for him opposite the children,

covered himself

everywhere I go. Always a round man in a s

nts from the mantelpiece, and replaced them without consciousness of what they were,

u get that clock? Where did you get that cloc

ou've been here and in this room at least twice a week for the last

d forgotten or lost

murmured absent-mindedly, s

me. Victorine has lost the key. I have to wind it with a monkey-wrench. Now I'll try some

Rivers, bewildered, wishing to be polite, y

her voice. "You know how Papum goes on. He won't hear a wor

scussing this story, Mr. Bessemer rose. "Well, Mr. Rivers,

e'll go to sleep on the lounge here if you don't.

ith her father. They all bade Condy good-night and took themselves away, Howard lingering a moment i

" suggested Travis, risi

reached by the long hall that ran the whole length of the fl

up one of the burners in colored g

ad of papered, and bunches of hand-painted pink flowers tied up with blue ribbons straggled from one corner of the ceiling. Across one angle of the room straddled a brass easel upholding a cra

two bisque figures of an Italian fisher boy and girl kept company with the clock, a huge timepiece, set in a red plush palette, that never was known to go. But at the right of the fireplace, and balan

himself carefully down on one of the frail chairs w

that they reached nine o'clock. Then decidedly the evening began to drag. It was too early to go. Condy could find no good excuse for taking himself away, and, though Travis was good-natured enough, and met him more than half-way, their talk lapsed, and lapsed, and lapsed. The breaks became more numerous and lasted longer. Condy began to wonder if he was boring her. No sooner had the suspicion entered his head than it hardened into a certainty, and at once what little fluency and freshness he yet retained forsook him on the spot. What made matters worse was his recollection of other evenings that of late he had failed in precisely the same manner. Ev

s to see her three or four times a week ever since. They two "went out" not a little in San Francisco society, and had been in a measure identified with what

nesdays and Sundays. Then they met at dances, and managed to be invited to the same houses for teas and dinners. They had flirted rather desperately, and at times Condy even told hims

to experience a sudden qualm of deep and genuine regret. He had never been NEAR to her, after all. They were as far apart as when they had first met. And yet he knew enough of her to know that she was "worth while." He had had experience-all the experience he wanted-with other olde

you like. He was nothing more nor

you talking about?" gasped

ad at him helplessly, "he hasn't been listening to a word. I'm

e me; I was thinking-thinking of

, settling her side-co

t the 'Saturday Evening' is. Plenty of the girls who are not 'out' belong, and a good many of last year's debutantes come, as well as the older girls of three or four seasons'

. "I know Carter and the t

ad sometimes, doe

meful. But most of the girls-M

ve been drinking before he came. He was very bad indeed-as bad," she said between her teeth, "as he could be and yet walk straight. As you say, most of the girls don't mind. They say, 'It's only Johnnie Carter; what do you ex

med Condy, breathles

some dirty little lie about Laurie. Actually trying t

seat. "Beast, cad,

"that Carter would so much as d

e? did

. It was a break, and he wanted it. I hadn't time to think. The only idea I had was that if I refused him he might tell some dirty little

echless. Sudd

ting till the knuckles cracked. "Now, let's see. You leave it to me. I know Carte

n had quarreled over a girl; and my name is mentioned, discussed, and handed around from one crowd of men to another, from one club to another; and then, of course, the papers take it up. By that time Mr. Carter will have told his side of the story and invented another dirty

t's

want to know the kind of people who have made Jack Carter possible. The other girls don't mind it, nor many men besides you, Condy; and I'm not going to be associated with people who take it as a joke for a man to come to a function drunk. And as for having a good time, I'll find my amusements so

l continue to go out somewhe

ook he

hole thing tires me. Mind, Condy," she exclaimed, "I'm not going to break with it because I have any 'purpose in life,' or that sort of thing. I want to have a good time, and I'm going to see if I can't have it in my own way. If the kind of thing that makes Jack Carter possible is conventionality, then I'm done w

ess. "You're fine as gold, Travis, an

ike me, and you know that I like you; but as for loving each other, you know we don't. Yes, you say that you love me and that I'm the only girl. That's part of the game. I can play it"-her little eyes began to dance-"quite as

e you," protested Condy, tryi

DO with such a boy as you are, after all-a great big, overgrown boy? Condy Rivers, look at me straight

d blankly, as though he ha

-"and I don't love you."

burden and trouble of keeping up the pretences

enough," said

it an imp

coured

h," she insisted;

by Jingo! Travis, I think I'm goin

. Is it an

at

etend to love eac

use the moment I began to love yo

hand. "That's an

t." But when, as had been his custom, he made as t

ly, smiling for all tha

it? You're not going to overturn such time-worn, time-ho

is, trying not to laugh