At once, if

At once, if you please. Before the estate had finished his artistic improvements on the front door, the new tenant had begun the transfer of his simple lares and penates in a big handpropelled pushcart. The initial load consisted in the usual implements of eating, sitting, and sleeping. But the burden of the halfdozen succeeding trips was homogeneous. Clocks. Big clocks, little clocks, old clocks, new clocks, fat clocks, lean clocks, solemn clocks, fussy clocks, clocks of red, of green, of brown, of pink, of white, of orange, of blue, clocks that sang, and clocks that rang, clocks that whistled, and blared, and piped, and drummed. One by one,

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gentleman does not

gentleman does not like dogs. The mordaunt estate felt suddenly convicted of social error. The feeling deepened when willy woolly advanced, reckoned him up with an appraising eye, and, without the slightest loss of dignity, raised himself on his hind legs, offering the gesture of supplication. He did not, however, droop his paws in the accepted canine style he joined them, finger tip to finger tip, elegantly and piously, after the manner of the maidens prayer. The estate promptly capitulated. Some pup. He exclaimed. When did you want to move in.

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Mr. Wagboom was

Mr. Wagboom was favorably impressed with this, as possessing aristocratic implications. The name, he pronounced, is satisfactory. The sum is satisfactory. It is, however, essential that the lessor should measure up in character and status to the standards of the mordaunt estate. This he had adapted from the prospectus of a correspondence school, which had come to him through the mail, very genteelly worded. Family man. He added briskly. Yes, sir. How many of you. Two.

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unsuitable on purely

unsuitable on purely eclectic grounds, such as garlic for breakfast, or a glass eye. How the new tenant had contrived to commend himself to mr. Mordauntwagboom is something of a mystery. Probably it was his name rather than his appearance, which was shiny, not to say seedy. He encountered the estate when that incorporated gentleman was engaged in painting the front door, and, in a deprecating voice, inquired whether twentyfive dollars a month would be considered. Maybe, returned the estate, whereupon the stranger introduced himself, with a stiff little bow, as mr. Winslow merivale.

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remote backwater of

remote backwater of the great city to mature fresh combinations of his art. Before the voices came, number 37 was as quiet a house as any in the square. Quieter than most, since it was vacant much of the time and the ceremonious sign of the mordaunt estate, for rental to suitable tenant, invited inspection. Suitable is the catch in that innocentappearing legend. For the mordaunt estate, which is no estate at all and never has been, but an exbutcher of elegant proclivities named wagboom, prefers to rent its properties on a basis of prejudice rather than profit, and is quite capable of rejecting an applicant as

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wayfarers on the

wayfarers on the far side of our square used to stop before number 37 and wonder. The little house, it seemed, was making music at them. Kleam, kleam, kleam, kleam, it would pipe pleasantly. Bhong. Bhong. Bhong. Solemn and churchly, in rebuke of its own levity. Kungglang. Kungglang. Kungglang. Kungglang. Kungglang. That was a duet in the middle register. Then from some faroff aerie would ring the tocsin of an elfin silversmith, fast, furious, and tiny pingpingpingpingpingpingpingping. We surmised that a retired swiss bellringer had secluded himself in our

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O lord. Dad.

O lord. Dad. Cried the horrified julien, scuffing it out with frantic feet. How long has this been there. Whatre you doing. Leave it be. Cried the anguished artist. Its been there since noon. Never mind, put in bobbie softly its very pretty and tasteful even though it is a little precipitate. But howshe turned the lovely and puzzled inquiry of her eyes upon the symbolisthow did you know. Artistic intuition, said peter quick banta with profound complacency. Im an artist. The house of silvery voices

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lifetime to see,

lifetime to see, itit only just happened. Bless your dear, innocent hearts, both of you. Its been happening for weeks. Come with me. I lead them to the sidewalk fronting thornsens lite restaurant. There stood peter quick banta, admiring his latest masterpiece of imaginative symbolism. It represented a lovebird of eagle size holding in its powerful beak a scroll with a wreath of forgetmenots on one end and of orangeblossoms on the other, encircling respectively the initials. J.t. And r.h. Below, in no less than four colors, ran the legend, cupids token.

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How good is

How good is life in an attic at twenty, she murmured. Then, turning to him, she held out her hands. I could find it good, she said with a soft little falter in her voice, even at twentytwo. Everything passes in review before my bench, sooner or later. The two, going by with transfigured faces, stopped. Lets tell dominie, said julien. I waved a jaunty hand. I know already, said i, even if it hadnt been announced to a waiting world. Whwhwhy, stammered bobbie with a blush worth a mans waiting a

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She turned toward

She turned toward the door. At least, said julien in a voice which threatened to get out of control, youll know that it wasnt all masquerade. Youll know why ill always keep the picture, even if i never paint another. She stole a look at him over her shoulder and, with a thrill, saw the passion in his eyes and the pride that withheld him from speaking. Suppose, she said, i asked you to give it up. You wouldnt, he retorted quickly. No, i wouldnt. Butbut her glance, wandering away from him, fell on the joyous line of branger bold above the door.

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Or kind. Or

Or kind. Or true. Ii dont know, she faltered. You let me offer you money. And youve probably got as much as i have. I wont have from now on, then. Im going to paint. I thought, when you told me you were going away, that i couldnt look at a canvas again. But now i know i was wrong. Ive got to paint. Youll have left me that, at least. Mr. Merrill thinks youre ruining your career. And if you do, itll be my fault. Ill never, never, never, said the patroness of art desolately, try to do any one good again.

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Its true that

Its true that your potboiling brings you a big income. Yes. Then why do you take employment as a chauffeur. I dont. That car belongs to me. And your being a waiter. I dont suppose the taverne splendide belongs to you. An impromptu bit of acting, confessed the abashed julien. And this attic. Was that hired for the same comedy. No. This is mine, really. I dont understand. Why have you done it all.

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If you want

If you want to know the truth, he said defiantly, so that i could keep on seeing you. Thats a very poor excuse, she retorted. The best in the world. As a successful commercial artist, what possible interest would you have taken in me. You took me for a struggling young painterthat was the bonnie lassies fault, for i never lied to you about itand after wed started on that track i didntwell, i didnt have the courage to risk losing you by quitting the masquerade. How you must have laughed at me all the time. He flushed to his angry eyes. Do you think that is fair. He retorted.

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merrill, advertising manager

merrill, advertising manager for the criterion clothing company. And mr. Tenney has been doing drawings for you. He has. For several years. So that, said the girl, half to herself, is his potboiling. Not a very complimentary term, commented mr. Merrill, for the best blackandwhite work being done in new york today. Between my concern and two others he makes a railroad presidents income out of it. Yes, i overheard what you said to him. Thank you so much. In return, may i ask you something. Certainly.

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Will you not,

Will you not, for his own good, dissuade mr. Tenney from throwing away his career. Why should you suppose me to have any influence with mr. Tenney. Mr. Merrills face was grave, as befitted the issue, but a twinkle appeared at the corner of his glasses. Ive seen the portrait, he replied, and with a bow, went on his way. Julien opened the door to her knock. She stepped inside, facing him with bright, inscrutable eyes. Why have you been fooling me about your circumstances. She demanded. Dn merrill. Said julien with fervor.

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thats it, merrill.

thats it, merrill. Im going to paint. The unseen merrill left a blessing of a sort behind, slammed the door upon it, and materialized to the vision of the girl on the landing as an energetic and sprucelooking man of fortyodd, with a harassed expression. At need, miss holland could summon considerable decisiveness to her aid. Would you think me inexcusably rude, she said softly, if i asked who you are. The descending man snatched off his hat, stared, seemed on the point of whistling, then, recovering himself, said courteously im george

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will not aid

will not aid him further. On my arm, she pursues, baring her white, polished arm, there is a mark. I know not who imprinted it there. See, old man. The old man sees high up on her right arm two hearts and a broken anchor, impressed with india ink blue and red. Yes, repeats the antiquary, viewing it studiously, but it gives out no history. If you could remember who put it there. Of that she has no recollection. The old man cannot relieve her anxiety, and arranging her hood she bids him good night, forces a piece of gold into his hand, and seeks her home, disappointed. The antiquarys predictions were founded on what mr. Soloman snivel had

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your excellency allows,

your excellency allows, that one of the secretaries of state declared, that the plantations were not annexed to the crown, and so were not within the jurisdiction of parliament. If we should concede to what your excellency supposes might possibly or perhaps, be the case, that the secretary made this declaration, as his own opinion, the event showed that it was the opinion of the king too for it is not to be accounted for upon any other principle, that he would have denied his royal assent to a bill, formed for no other purpose, but to grant his subjects in england, the privilege of fishing on the sea coasts in america. The account

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he threatened to

he threatened to sue the mordaunt estates tenant. To the credit side of the houses account it must be set down that maclachan, the tailor, having started one of his disastrous drunks within the precincts of his home of fashion, was on his way to finish it in the gutter via the zigzag route from corner saloon to corner saloon, when the twelve apostles clock in the basement window lifted up its voice and

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really halfpast one.

really halfpast one. Thence arose in the early days painful misunderstandings on the part of our square, for we are a simple people and deem it the duty of a timepiece to keep time. In particular we were befooled by grandfather, the solemnvoiced ananias of a clock with a longrange stroke and a most convincing manner. So that schepstein, the noteshaver, on his way to a profitable appointment at 11 a.m., heard the hour strike thirtyfive minutes in advance of the best professional opinion from the house of silvery voices, and was impelled to the recklessness of hiring a passing taxi, thereby reaching his destination with half an hour to spare and half a dollar to lack, for which latter

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his charges so

his charges so badly. For his clocks were both independent and irresponsible, though through no fault of their own. When they were wound they went. When they were unwound they rested. Seldom were more than half of them simultaneously busy, and their differences of opinion as to the hour were radical and irreconcilable. The big, emphatic eightday, opposite the front door, might proclaim that it was eleven, only to be at once contradicted by the little tinkler on the parlor mantel, which announced that it was six, thereby starting up the cathedral case on the stairway and the grandfather in the diningroom, who held out respectively for eight and two, while all the time it was

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the owner established

the owner established them in their new domicile, adjusted them, dusted them, and wound them, and, as they set themselves once more to their meticulous busyness, that place which had for so long been muffled in quiet and deadened with dust, gave forth the tiny bustle of unresting mechanism and the pleasant chime of the hours. Number 37 became the house of silvery voices. Thus came to our square, to be one of us, for better or for worse, mr. Winslow merivale, promptly rechristened stepfather time. The bonnie lassie gave him the name. She said that only a stepfather could bring up

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trusted, my dear.

trusted, my dear. There is but one man who really loves you. He is an old man, a man of station. He is your only true friend. I here see it marked. He crosses her hand, and says there can be no mistaking it. With that man, fair girl, you may escape the dark destiny. But, above all things, do not treat him coldly. And here i see by the sign that anna bonard is not your name. The name was given you by a wizard. You are right, old man, speaks anna, raising thoughtfully her great black eyes, as the antiquary pauses and watches each change of her countenance that name was given me by hag zogbaum, when i was a child in her den, in new york, and when no one cared for me. What my right

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mystery, interposes the

mystery, interposes the girl, i want to have explained. There will come a woman to reclaim youa woman in high life but she will come too late the girl pales and trembles. Yes, pursues the old man, looking more studiously at her hand, she will come too late. You will have admirers, and even suitors but they will only betray you, and in the end you will die of trouble. Ah. There is a line that had escaped me. You may avert this dark destinyyes, you may escape the end that fate has ordained for you. In neglect you came up, the companion of a man you think true to you. But he is not true to you. Watch him, follow himyou will yet find him out. Ha. Ha. Ha. These men are not to be

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