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five - ten - thirty men - gendarmes, aussi. Yes,

milady, he what you call 'swat' one - three - eight
policemans. If that Monsieur Long is out I say to

myself this Gentleman be will serve milady so well, and
I bring him here."

"Very well, Armand," said the lady, "you may
go." She turned to Hopkins.

"I sent my chauffeur," she said, "to bring my
cousin, Walter Long. There is a man in this house

who has treated me with insult and abuse. I have
complained to my aunt, and she laughs at me. Ar-

mand says you are brave. In these prosaic days men
who are both brave and chivalrous are few. May I

count upon your assistance?"
John Hopkins thrust the remains of his cigar into

his coat pocket. He looked upon this winning
creature and felt his first thrill of romance. It was a

knightly love, and contained no disloyalty to the flat
with the flea-bitten terrier and the lady of his choice.

He bad married her after a picnic of the Lady Label
Stickers' Union, Lodge No. 2, on a dare and a bet of

new hats and chowder all around with his friend, Billy
McManus. This angel who was begging him to

come to her rescue was something too heavenly for
chowder, and as for hats - golden, jewelled crowns

for her!
"Say," said John Hopkins, "just show me the guy

that you've got the grouch at. I've neglected my
talents as a scrapper heretofore, but this is my busy

night."
"He is in there," said the lady, pointing to a

closed door. "Come. Are you sure that you do not
falter or fear?"

"Me?" said John Hopkins. "Just give me one of
those roses in the bunch you are wearing, will you?"

The lady gave him a red, red rose. John Hopkins
kissed it, stuffed it into his vest pocket, opened the

door and walked into the room. It was a handsome
library, softly but brightly lighted. A young man

was there, reading.
"Books on etiquette is what you want to study,"

said John Hopkins, abruptly. "Get up here, and I'll
give you some lessors. Be rude to a lady, will you?"

The young man looked mildly surprised. Then he
arose languidly, dextrously caught the arms of John

Hopkins and conducted him irresistibly to the front
door of the house.

"Beware, Ralph Branscombe," cried the lady, who
had followed, "what you do to the gallant man who

has tried to protect me."
The young man shoved John Hopkins gently out

the door and then closed it.
"Bess," he said calmly, "I wish you would quit

reading historical novels. How in the world did that
fellow get in here?"

"Armand brought him," said the young lady. "I
think you are awfully mean not to let me have that

St. Bernard. I sent Armand for Walter. I was so
angry with you."

"Be sensible, Bess," said the young man, taking
her arm. "That dog isn't safe. He has bitten two

or three people around the kennels. Come now, let's
go tell auntie we are in good humor again."

Arm in arm, they moved away.
John Hopkins walked to his flat. The janitor's

five-year-old daughter was playing on the steps'
Hopkins gave her a nice, red rose and walked up-

stairs.
Mrs. Hopkins was philandering with curl-papers.

"Get your cigar?" she asked, disinterestedly.
"Sure," said Hopkins, "and I knocked around a

while outside. It's a nice night."
He sat upon the hornblende sofa, took out the

stump of his cigar, lighted it, and gazed at the grace-
ful figures in "The Storm" on the opposite wall.

"I was telling you," said he, "about Mr.
Whipple's suit. It's a gray, with an invisible check,

and it looks fine."
A LICKPENNY LOVER

There, were 3,000 girls in the Biggest Store.
Masie was one of them. She was eighteen and a

selleslady in the gents' gloves. Here she became
versed in two varieties of human beings - the kind of

gents who buy their gloves in department stores and
the kind of women who buy gloves for unfortunate

gents. Besides this wide knowledge of the human
species, Masie had acquired other information. She

had listened to the promulgated wisdom of the 2,999
other girls and had stored it in a brain that was as

secretive and wary as that of a Maltese cat. Per-
haps nature, foreseeing that she would lack wise

counsellors, had mingled the saving ingredient of
shrewdness along with her beauty, as she has endowed

the silver fox of the priceless fur above the other
animals with cunning.

For Masie was beautiful. She was a deep-tinted
blonde, with the calm poise of a lady who cooks butter

cakes in a window. She stood behind her counter in
the Biggest Store; and as you closed your band over

the tape-line for your glove measure you thought
of Hebe; and as you looked again you wondered how

she had come by Minerva's eyes.
When the floorwalker was not looking Masie

chewed tutti frutti; when he was looking she gazed
up as if at the clouds and smiled wistfully.

That is the shopgirl smile, and I enjoin you to
shun it unless you are well fortified with callosity of

the heart, caramels and a congeniality for the capers
of Cupid. This smile belonged to Masie's recreation

hours and not to the store; but the floorwalker must
have his own. He is the Shylock of the stores.

When be comes nosing around the bridge of his nose
is a toll-bridge. It is goo-goo eyes or "git" when

be looks toward a pretty girl. Of course not all floor-
walkers are thus. Only a few days ago the papers

printed news of one over eighty years of age.
One day Irving Carter, painter, millionaire, trav-

eller, poet, automobilist, happened to enter the Big-
gest Store. It is due to him to add that his visit was

not voluntary. Filial duty took him by the collar and
dragged him inside, while his mother philandered

among the bronze and terra-cotta statuettes.
Carter strolled across to the glove counter in order

to shoot a few minutes on the wing. His need for
gloves was genuine; be had forgotten to bring a pair

with him. But his action hardly calls for apology, be-
cause be had never heard of glove-counter flirtations.

As he neared the vicinity of his fate be hesitated,
suddenly conscious of this unknown phase of Cupid's

less worthy profession.
Three or four cheap fellows, sonorously garbed,

were leaning over the counters, wrestling with the
mediatorial hand-coverings, while giggling girls

played vivacious seconds to their lead upon the
strident string of coquetry. Carter would have re-

treated, but he had gone too far. Masie confronted
him behind her counter with a questioning look in

eyes as coldly, beautifully, warmly blue as the glint
of summer sunshine on an iceberg drifting in Southern

seas.
And then Irving Carter, painter, millionaire, etc.,

felt a warm flush rise to his aristocratically pale face.
But not from diffidence. The blush was intellectual

in origin. He knew in a moment that he stood in the
ranks of the ready-made youths who wooed the gig-

gling girls at other counters. Himself leaned against
the oaken trysting place of a cockney Cupid with a

desire in his heart for the favor of a glove salesgirl.
He was no more than Bill and Jack and Mickey.

And then be felt a sudden tolerance for them, and
an elating, courageouscontempt for the conventions

upon which he had fed, and an unhesitating deter-
mination to have this perfect creature for his own.

When the gloves were paid for and wrapped the
Carter lingered for a moment. The dimples at

corners of Masie's damask mouth deepened. All gen-
tlemen who bought gloves lingered in just that way.

She curved an arm, showing like Psyche's through
her shirt-waist sleeve, and rested an elbow upon the

show-case edge.
Carter had never before encountered a situation of

which he had not been perfect master. But now he
stood far more awkward than Bill or Jack or Mickey.

He had no chance of meeting this beautiful girl so-
cially. His mind struggled to recall the nature and

habits of shopgirls as be had read or heard of them.
Somehow be had received the idea that they some-

times did not insist too strictly upon the regular
channels of introduction. His heart beat loudly at

the thought of proposing an unconventional meeting
with this lovely and virginal being. But the tumult

in his heart gave him courage.
After a few friendly and well-received remarks on

general subjects, he laid his card by her hand on the
counter.

"Will you please pardon me," he said, "if I seem
too bold; but I earnestly hope you will allow me the

pleasure of seeing you again. There is my name; I
assure you that it is with the greatest respect that

I ask the favor of becoming one of your --
acquaintances. May I not hope for the privilege?"

Masie knew men - especially men who buy gloves.
Without hesitation she looked him frankly and smil-

ingly in the eyes, and said:
"Sure. I guess you're all right. I don't usually

go out with strange gentlemen, though. It ain't
quite ladylike. When should you want to see me

again?"
"As soon as I may," said Carter. "If you would

allow me to call at your home, I -- "
Masie laughed musically. "Oh, gee, no!" she

said, emphatically. "If you could see our flat once!
There's five of us in three rooms. I'd just like to see

ma's face if I was to bring a gentleman friend
there!"

"Anywhere, then," said the enamored Carter,
"that will be convenient to you."

"Say," suggested Masie, with a bright-idea look
in her peach-blow face; "I guess Thursday night will

about suit me. Suppose you come to the corner of
Eighth Avenue and Forty-eighth Street at 7:30. I



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