THE IMP DISPOSES
NOTHING was so pleasing to the Imp as an invitation to accompany Miss Eleanor on some expedition or other. He adored her, and her conquest was the more noteworthy in that her hair was not red, but a dark, dark brown. Generally speaking the Imp lost his heart to red-haired femininity. There was the little cash-girl in the department store, there was—but the list could only cover the ladies with embarrassment and serves no present end. When it comes to that, who cares a particle where the snows of yester-year may be? It is polite, doubtless, to bewail them, but like most polite performances, hollow at the core.
Enough that since that hot afternoon when, weary and cross with a long stage drive the Imp had stumbled up the steps of the hotel piazza and bumped into a brilliant scarlet dress so violently that it collapsed with him and they sank to the floor together, he had worshipped the dress and
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