finally called off all bets. We did it, to the credit of both of us, however, in a most friendly way, agreed to be "second best" to each other the rest of our lives, and really meant it. And, right up to the time when Jimmie told me his big news, we had kept the faith.

"Ethel's a wonderful girl, Jimmie," I told him slowly: "She's pretty and attractive and refined and, above all, she has the right sort of a heart."

"I knew you'd say that, Dick." he responded warmly. "That's why I chose you as the first man to tell my luck to. You went with her so long, and she still thinks the world of you. Tell me—she hasn't a fault, has she?"

I smothered remembrance of the few times she had lost her temper with me, and, besides, she probably wouldn't have the provocation with Jimmie.

"Not one, Jimmie," I answered. "When are you going to take the big jump, Dick?" Jimmie queried suddenly. "You've been off and on with so many of them, and it's getting about that time,' for you."

"I don't know," I said thoughtfully. "What sort of a girl is your ideal, Jimmie?"

"Ethel," he replied promptly.

"Oh, I know-"I waved my hand. "But what characteristics has your ideal girl?"

"Georgette Kilmer was 'The Girl Who Wanted Always to Play.' We 'played' together for a year and the constant parties and late hours she demanded wore me out physically. But she was a splendidly clever actress and a girl whom a man instinctively was proud to be with.

"Frances Lane was 'The Girl Who Danced Too Well.' Of course, one can't dance through life, and Frances will find it out some day, but, at the same time, don't you feel glorious when you go to a big party and the men fight for your girl's program, saying 'You've brought the best dancer on the floor?' Such was Frances Lane.

"Helen Blaine was 'The Girl Who Flirted.' She flirted with me, with friends I introduced her to, with youI'll bet. It was all harmless enough, but a man doesn't want his wife to 'vamp' the business acquaintance he brings home for dinner. But, Lord, isn't she beautiful-?”

Jimmie heard me through in silence. Then he smiled with the age-old cynicism of the "man of the world," who, at last, has become engaged and now can give pointers to the comrades who fought and bled with him in the fields of courtship.

"Good fellowship-talent-ability to dance attractiveness," he summarized. "Aren't those four fine qualities for a man to say his ideal girl must have-?

That was harder to answer because I was not in love.

"Since I can't have Ethel," I qualified warily, "give my ideal girl Edith Jack son's good fellowship, Georgette Kilmer's talent, Frances Lane's ability to dance, and Helen Blaine's general attractiveness."

"I don't recognize some of the names," Jimmie said. "Explain."

"Edith Jackson was 'The Girl Who Raved About Other Men,' I guess it was a flaw in my make-up that made me unable to fight it out to a finish when I kept hearing about 'Chuck' and Bobby Cole and George Smith. I've always had a jealous disposition. But Edith, I believe, was the most consistent 'good pal' I've ever had in my life.

them all, Jimmie!"

"What is that?"

"The true heart."

"The true heart-" I echoed, and I wondered.

Jimmie had found a "true heart" for himself, and was completely happy. Wasn't there, somewhere on earth, one for me?

"Let me tell you about it," Jimmie continued earnestly. "What difference does it make how a girl looks, or dances, or whether she has talent or not-if she's square all through and is going to make a real mate for you in the battle we're all just starting on?

"Ethel Dade hasn't Georgette Kilmer's talent, and she probably can't dance like Miss Lane, and she is not as pretty as (Continued on Page 74)

IS IRISHMEN GO, Mike was very

A docile. Between the black patch

stuck over his left eye, and the one pasted around his tail all was peace, quiet and solicitude. Many a cat, however, had taken a dare to disturb an end, and been sorry. Invariably the battle became short, sweet and delicious. London prize ring rules predominating, without the expensive services of a referee or time keeper, you couldn't drive a second with a sledge hammer between the swear words, cross counters and knock-downs. The whole surrounding scenery appearing in the reflex, like a huge giant fur store which had suddenly decided to be rash, beckoned to a bold bad cyclone; locked the vagabond within and teased him into his darndest. Needless to say it pleased the audience immensely. Being admitted free, they promptly lost their dignity and brought down the house, including shoes. Then the other fellow became thoughtful. Having his coffee cooled, he deemed it sufficient grounds to endure a roasting from the gang, swallow his pride and pour a hasty retreat, where in the far off corners of a bashful ash can and newly made spider's web, he could bask in the shade, peep from behind the painful boundaries of his dark brown sorrow, and lick in seclusion the ragged edges of his whole nine lives.

Was Mike conceited? Oh, dear no. Though well he might have been. How would you take it if some Lord High Magician came along just haphazard like. waved on high an awesome, mysterious wand and made you king of the alley? I'll wager a nice, fat, juicy fish head, few felines would ever again be satisfied with the old regime. What? Sleep once more on that old rheumatic rocking chair which creaked aloud in every joint and hollered perpetually with pain? Never! Monarch, real kings of the royal blood demand better quarters. Beds, that are soft,

tender, and affectionate; beds that cling and embrace every pore and hate to lose your company; beds, which are but part and parcel of one's own sweet worldly self. That's what made Mike so popular with his masters. He was always modest and unassuming in their presence. Never spoke unless requested, and in spite of his many hair-raising exploits, and many florid-faced scars, never, never bragged of his conquests. Devil as he may have been on the highway, at home he became the quiet, refined gentleman. Exhaling from between his bowed courtly ribs the pleasant aroma of peace on earth, good will to cats.

"Have you bought up the Bugle yet, Pa?" asked pretty Miss Morgan of her father one day.

"Hardly," growled that flabby-muscled and rotund gentleman pulling his great gray moustache vigorously. "Confound Jackson's obstinacy. He knows that it's the rose-hued dream and blue horizon of my existence to own the town's only publicity sheets, and still, just to be contrary, he won't give in. Yes, there's twain legged mules, too."

Was life in the little aenemic town of Oshgosh slow? Did you ever reside in one with two newspapers of different affiliations, one Democrat, one Republican?

Need I tell of the high temperatures and feverish ravings; of the palpitating heartbeats, of the nerve shocks, of the goose flesh uncertainties? Never was the arm of the two dailies weary of knocking each other. If the "Trumpet" took one side of a question, "The Bugle" promptly vaulted to the other. Simultaneously both threw up mighty earthworks of wood pulp, mounted their heaviest guns of sarcasm, and belched forth a merry bombardment of hot rimmed ink-stained words. Reading somewhere, probably in a Sioux almanac,

"That competition is the life of trade," they began to work the poor old Indian to death. At times he was positively blue in the face, short-winded and groggy. It seemed that no scheme of business could maintain the high and dizzy pace without a quick lightening drop into a dark deep oblivion. All that remained was a bass note, a cry in the high key, and the embellishments of the finale. In the allegretto movement to absorb the other fellow's rent roll, advertising rates became almost as cheap as last year's popular song minus the title page. Therefore, when the Morgans moved, it irritated a certain part of the town into feverish expectancy. Mike became all ears as weli as tails. Did this mean another cat to lick? Was the alley's heavyweight cham. pionship title in dire danger? He wondered if the newcomer was a scientific fighter or just a common ordinary roughhouse brawler.

The rest of the Jackson family were not so calm and restful. Didn't fate play them a curious prank? Didn't the redhaired imps of Satan seem to be working overtime? Hereafter instead of fighting in the newspapers, they could settle their differences a la Mike, or over a splintery back fence.

Storms and earthquakes seemed due on that rose-hued future and blue horizon which Messrs. Jackson and Morgan dreamed about. Exit the bird's eye-view, and enter the close-up. In vogue became the short powerful jolt instead of the long wide swing.

Being about one of the most stylish bunches of skirts that ever rustled down a pike, a fact that Dolly was perfectly aware of, young Jackson soon began to sit up and take tally. Becoming afflicted in a remarkably narrow contracted space of time with that odious but most familiar disease known far and wide as camelback and giraffe-neck. Something very seldom caught in the wild state, but easily trapped in hard, cruel captivity. It was positively remarkable how many times Ted found himself pushed by an unknown force, toward that large bay window with heavy, closely-woven curtains. What a step she had, so light, so majestic, so dainty. And that chassis. Why, it

seemed all springs, mufflers and ball bearings. What made him remember the great long sweep of her finely curved eyelashes, and the color, the deep blue pigment of her great blue eyes. Meaningless, vapid, insipd, did he think the facial expression of other girls, but hers -hers was thin in its lines and delicate. Mobile as well as flexible; strong yet transparent to all the different shades and tones of womanly emotions. Once cold, now tender, with just a faint hint of a thinly veiled shadow of a smile which played like truant Cupids about the pure red blood of her full rounded lips. It fascinated him beyond belief to watch the march, the halt, the retreat of her great army of thoughts and guess their destination. Over and over again he wondered if he could hold a winning hand in the card game of Love, bear off the prize in triumph, and avoid the terror, the pain, the humiliation of being dropped or lost in the tricky uncertain shuffle.

Focusing the old folks, they got along famously, just glared at each other when they met, and passed on. But when they reached that old desk over those loudmouthed presses, and took their pen in hand, oh, boy!

* * * * * *

Did you ever see a successful man who didn't have his enemies? Well, Mike was no exception to the rule. Tandemhoofed as certain as four-in-hand. Chief among the former being Tom Keene, a youthful neighbor, whose parents were such past masters at diplomacy that they had enticed an innocent, unsophisticated college president into surrounding their beloved son with second-handed books on surgery, so that they could have peace at home the greater part of the year. And everyone complimented him on finding his proper sphere, the high-handed art of cutting out a yell of distress from the human body without even scratching the echo.

Didn't Dad take an alarm clock apart when on the bottle? What more proof should one want, that the instinct, the rare, heaven-sent talent "to look into things" was securely his? The "Works of the form divine" should be as clear as a cosmetic adv. But this being vacation

time, Tom needed practice. Ah, the magic of the word, the perfection that is its heir. Mike wished the thing a quick early death. Out of the corners of his almond shaped eyes he watched the house furtively. It put him in mind of a morgue. Everytime Keene gazed his way Mike got nervous and nearly fell off his perch. True, cats can't read, but they can hear, and mighty good, too. And the sound, the rasping noise of a grindstone sharpening the invisible teeth of a long shiny steel blade, didn't strike his highly strung musical nature as just exactly a love song. And he resolved to snub its possessor.

* * * * * *

Unknown to young Jackson, Dolly Dolly Morgan had fallen in love with him, and woman-like, had already picked out their home and the cut of her wedding gown. Can't a girl peep, too? But how were they to meet? Unhappily, no one can marry without first getting acquainted. If she wrote, it was unmaidenly, if she nodded, it was bold. Oh, if their parents were only reasonable beings and not deadly enemies, how pleasant things could be. Isn't greed a hellish devil? And the desire to possess another's dividends an insane imp? But help came from an unexpected quarter. Who could have believed that there was romance in a cat? "Ah, you little darling," she said between the loud buzzing purrs, "you saw our enigma, you little minx, and came quickly to the rescue." · Did he wink?

Being the son of a business man, and wound up on the high gear, naturally Jackson wasn't slow. He had been watching Mike's predicament in the tall high tree, and on receiving the furry traveler over the back fence, promptly made a date, giving the still cold wheels of courtship a violent push in the direction of the marriage license bureau, where the single men were happy, and the others complained of long hours, short pay, and the fearful cost of matrimony.

* * * * * *

Isn't life queer? Having his instruments by now all dolled up and ready for company, young Tom Keene gave more serious study toward a subject. Once

"Do you know," said Keene to his parents, one evening, "that blamed alley rabbit possessed more generalship than a carload of West Pointers, or a crowd of old be-whiskered farmers around a grocery store. Try as I have, with every scheme trick and artifice at the finger ends of civilized man, I have failed to let them meet around his long, skinny neck. He has either ducked, side-stepped or parried every lunge with a trap at the end. Why, just this morning he caught our own deal old Tabby out of bounds and for revenge knocked a couple of teeth out of her mouth, put a kink in her whiskers and a knot in her tail." * * * * * *

Meeting each other now surreptitiously because of parental strife, courtship to Jackson and Dolly Morgan became a thing of great thrilling adventure. Everywhere they went, vivid imagination pictured in the distance a huge fierce ogre in the shape and form of an angry Pa pursuing two passionate lovers to the bitter ends of the earth, inspite of the proven truth that "our world is round." They felt like a bandit armed to the teeth with a fiery tongue and a cold water pistol, plus the awful injustice of a price. on his head, and nothing for the rest of his body.

Never under any circumstances did they ever put the whole human frame into a cafe doorway at once. It had to be accomplished slowly, by degrees, first the eyes, then the neck, then the shoulders and lastly the paper soles. Hung by such a slendid thread, it seemed but logical that villainess should step in and seek to put the connecting link of their happiness to the keen edged scissors of fate.

Brought up with the idea forever dangling before her eyes, that she was deserving of a brilliant match in the world's marriage factory, Jackson's old flame,

Miss Ribald Jest, coming face to face with such a discovery, that Miss Morgan was slowly but surely scratching her from the list of eligibles, commenced to get warm blooded, flare up and weep phosphorent tears, some of which scorched her chin. Rage setting in, she resolved to cut young Jackson of his pipe-dream, and cause his heavenly ideas to roam skyward in dense black smoke.

"So, my fine young lady," said Mr. Morgan the next day, startling his daughter with his new found information, "in spite of my warnings; in spite of my efforts to sidetrack that numbskull family, you, my daughter, the pride, the idol of my heart, have deliberately defied me, have been seen not once but many times in young Jackson's unwelcome company. Would that I had never acquired an offspring. Oh, for the days, the good old times when children were kind, meek and obedient. It is indeed true that I have been too indulgent, too easy, too softhearted in your management. Yes, I have spared the rod and spoiled the child. Henceforth I forbid you his presence. After this it's the sewing circle and crazy

"Isn't he just the cutest wisest old dear imaginable?" exclaimed the new Mrs. Jackson, some time later. "Think if he hadn't come to our rescue we might have been still strangers to each other." Ther the ice cream and the wedding cake had a short respite from the clamping power of Mike's jaws.

Evidently there was some important questions playing battledoor and shuttlecock in the most spacious portions of his small-sized brain. Did you see how thoughtfully he had gazed upward? He wondered if they ever had fleas. And the old folk? Well, they buried the tomahawk of competition in camphor, raised advertising space a couple of francs and kopecs and lived happily ever after.