Three Stories
By V., O., C.S.
I—Honi soit qui mal y pense
"BUT I'm not very tall, am I?" said the little book-keeper, coming close to the counter so as to prevent me from seeing that she was standing on tiptoe.
"A p'tite woman," said I, "goes straight to my heart."
The book-keeper blushed and looked down, and began fingering a bunch of keys with one hand.
"How is the cold?" I asked. "You don't seem to cough so much to-day."
"It always gets bad again at night," she answered, still looking down and playing with her keys.
I reached over to them, and she moved her hand quickly away and clasped it tightly with the other.
I picked up the keys:—"Store-room, Cellar, Commercial Room, Office," said I, reading off the names on the labels—"why, you seem to keep not only the books, but everything else as well."
She turned away to measure out some whisky at the other
