“That’s your trouble!” she exclaimed, as she wrote the name. “Your characters never use the wrong fork for the fish course; they’re all perfectly proper and stupid. Now it’s your turn.” “It seems to me,” he suggested, “that you ought to name all the others. As I think of it, I really don’t know any interesting people. You’re right about the tameness of my characters, and my notebooks are absolutely blank.” She merely nodded. “Very well; I suppose it’s only fair for me to supply the rest of the eggs for the omelet. Let me see; there’s been a good deal in the papers about Birdie Coningsby, the son of the copper king, one of the richest young men in America. I’ve heard that he has red hair, and that will brighten the color scheme.” “Excellent!” murmured Farrington. “He was arrested last week for running over a traffic cop in New Jersey. I judge that the adventurous life appeals to him.” “I suppose our Senator represents the state; the church also should be represented. Why not a clergyman of some sort? A bishop rather appeals to me; why not that Bishop of Tuscarora who’s been warning New York against its sinful ways?” “All right. He’s at least a man of courage; let’s give him a chance.” “A detective always helps,” Arabella observed meditatively. “Then by all means put in Gadsby! I’m tired of reading of his exploits. I think he’s the most conceited ass now before the public.” “Gadsby is enrolled!” She held up the memorandum for his inspection. “That’s about enough to start things,” she remarked. “It’s a mistake to have too many characters in a novel. Of course others may be drawn in--we can count on that.” “But the heroine--a girl that realizes America’s finest and best----” “I think she should be the unknown quantity--left up in the air. But if you don’t agree with that----” “I was thinking,” he said, meeting her eyes, “that possibly you----” One of her most charming smiles rewarded this. “As the chief plotter, I must stand on the sidelines and keep out of it. But if you think----” “I think,” he declared, “that the plot would be a failure if you weren’t in it--very much in it.” “Oh, we must pass that. But there might be a girl of some sort. What would you think of Zaliska?” “The dancer! To offset the bishop!” The mirth in her eyes kindled a quick response in his. She laughingly jotted down the name of the Servian dancer who had lately kicked her way into fame on Broadway. “But do you think,” he interposed, “that the call of the silver horn is likely to appeal to her? She’d need a jazz band!” “Oh, variety is the spice of adventure! We’ll give her a chance,” she answered. “I think we have done well. One name more needs to be inscribed--that of Laurance Farrington.” She lifted her hand quickly as he demurred. “You need experiences--adventures--to tone up your imagination. Perhaps Zaliska will be your fate; but there’s always the unknown quantity.”