will be a distinct loss to literature should they turn out real instead of false.
But no matter about that. The point is elsewhere, or rather it is here. Mrs. Druce may never get the dukedom for her son. Yet were we the Conservative party we would procure her a peerage for the entertainment which she has caused. In a humdrum age like the present such enterprise deserves a reward.
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THE SUBTLENESS OF DICKIE
By Sewell Ford
THERE were Russian cigarettes and Scotch before Dickie. Also, he had his back to the avenue. Seeing this, I knew the matter to be a desperate one.
"What's she like, Dickie?" said I, as a long shot.
"I'll not tell," said Dickie. "You're such an old prude about women."
"Are you trying to flatter me, Dickie?"
"Then it's because you're so thundering sly. But I don't care. Laugh if you want to; it was heavenly while it lasted."
"Then it’s all over?"
"All over," said Dickie, with a sigh, as he reached for the Scotch.
I lighted one of Dickie's fat Russians. He gets them by the gross. They go on the governor's grocery bill.
Dickie sighed again. Then he looked hopelessly at me and said:
"Of course, you wouldn't understand—you couldn't."
"Of course not," said I. "Is she in the first or second row?"
"Oh, I say, I'm no Johnny; I chucked all that long ago."
Dickie has just turned twenty-two.
I apologized humbly, and offered Dickie one of his cigarettes.
"It was Cæsar, wasn't it, who said, 'Veni, Vidi, Vici?'" he went on. "Well, that tells the story. We met, we loved, we parted."
"Rather a free translation, Dickie, but I imagine the affair warrants it. Somewhat impetuous, was it not?"
"Lasted two minutes," said Dickie, solemnly. Then he livened. "Say, old man, did you ever meet a girl with eyes of gold—you'd call them bright brown, but they are gold, gold with brown specks in them—did you?"
"Only one," I admitted.
"But they weren't such eyes. No, those are the only golden eyes in the world. And the reddest, softest, sweetest lips that ever"
"Why, Dickie! You must have kissed her."
"The moment I saw her. It was a rash thing to do, but I risked it—and won."
"Aha! she kissed back?"
Dickie raised his Scotch and looked over the glass's rim toward the ceiling, where an apoplectic cherub rolled on a bank of unconvincing clouds. He was in an ecstasy of reminiscence. But he said no word.
"How many times? Come, now," I urged.
But Dickie smiled and shook his head. You would hardly expect such subtleness in a mere youth.
"Three?" I suggested.
"A dozen," said Dickie.
"You reckless young scamp! I wonder Mrs. Munnigram didn't come into the hall and catch you at it."
