Scoop. Opening it I found a photograph and a note. I won't annoy you with the picture, but here's the note:
Dear Gladys:
I am herewith returning the photo of your charming—er—limbs. It's too bad you didn't win with them. They'd win anywhere else, that's a cinch! I wish you'd autograph them and send them back to me.
I looked at the picture. Then I gave a start. The legs in the photograph were undoubtedly beautiful, no fooling, they were immense. There was another thing about them that strangely interested me—they weren't mine! They were Bee's!
On the breakfast table was the morning paper and staring right at me was a photograph of the prizewinning limbs. I recognized a well remembered and unusual design on the stockings. Then I got the answer—in some way Scoop had mixed the photos up, and the picture that won the prize was a picture of my legs, not Bee's!
Well, naturally my first impulse was to rush to Scoop and disclose to him this serious mistake, thus dethroning the happy Bee. Scoop's wire was busy, which gave me a chance to reflect. Never again will I think—brains ruined Caesar! I thought a thing such as this was Bee's only chance to rise from oblivion. I have
