down and I could have sworn that he blushed. And then, you know, he went

in and was entirely different from what he had been in the two preceding

rounds. Billy said that he is really a wonderful fighter, and there are

not very many good fights that Billy misses. What in the world do you

suppose his profession is anyway? Since we first noticed him he has been

a hosiery clerk, a waiter, and a prize-fighter."

"I don't know, I am sure," said Elizabeth, yawning. "You seem to be

terribly interested in him."

"I am," admitted Harriet frankly. "He's a regular adventure all in

himself--a whole series of adventures."

"I've never been partial to serials," said Elizabeth.

"Well, I should think one would be a relief after a whole winter of

heavy tragedy," retorted Harriet.

"What do you mean?" asked Elizabeth.

"Oh, I mean Harold, of course," said Harriet. "He's gone around all

winter with a grouch and a face a mile long. What's the matter with him

anyway?"

"I don't know," sighed Elizabeth. "I'm afraid he's working too hard."

Harriet giggled.

"Oh, fiddlesticks!" she exclaimed. "You know perfectly well that

Harold Bince will never work himself to death."

"Well, he is working hard, Harriet. Father says so. And he's worrying

about the business, too. He's trying so hard to make good."

"I will admit that he has stuck to his job more faithfully than anybody

expected him to."

Elizabeth turned slowly upon her friend, "You don't like Harold," she

said; "why is it?"

Harriet shook her head.

"I do like him, Elizabeth, for your sake. I suppose the trouble is that

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