“As a matter of fact,” he said, patiently, “I do not recall taking special notice of any individual woman.... As to this matter of prettiness--what constitutes it? What assembling of features and contours create a pleasant sensation in the beholder, and why?... Perhaps you noted how I have been scrutinizing you this morning?” “I most certainly did.” “Um!... It was for the purpose of determining if your appearance aroused pleasant sensations in myself.” “And did it?” He wrinked his eyes behind his glasses and pushed stiff fingers through his hair. “It is difficult to determine with accuracy, or to state in terms the degree of pleasure derived, but I am almost certain that I derive a mild satisfaction from regarding you.” “I--I am overwhelmed,” said Carmel, and with abruptness she passed through the wicket and out into the composing room, where she sat down in Tubal’s rope-bottomed chair, breathless with laughter. “Oh, Tubal,” she said, “what sort of creature is he anyhow?” “The Prof.?” She nodded weakly. “H’m.... The Prof.’s a kind of cabbage that never headed up,” said Tubal, with finality. “He’s got all the roots and leaves, like that kind of a cabbage, and, sim’lar, he hain’t no idee how to fold ’em up, or why he’s a cabbage, nor that cabbages is the chief ingredient of sauerkraut.” “Yes,” said Carmel, “that’s it.” And for a long time after that she continued to think of Evan Pell as a cabbage which had grown to maturity without fulfilling a cabbage’s chief object in life, which is to head. “Only,” she said, “he’s really just the opposite. He’s never done anything _but_ come to head. He’s comatose from his eyebrows to his toes.” The second issue of the _Free Press_ had brought faint encouragement. There had been a slight increase in advertising, due to Carmel’s solicitations, but her pleasure in this growth was somewhat dimmed by a guilty feeling that it was not due to any merit of the paper, or of her solicitations, but to a sort of rudimentary gallantry on the part of a few merchants.... Perhaps half a dozen men had lounged in to subscribe, investing a dollar and a half in curiosity.... But, to put the worst face on it, she had held her own. She really felt she had improved the paper. The columns of personals, which had been intrusted to Evan Pell, were full of items. He had shown an unusual aptitude for observing the minutiæ of the community. Having observed, he would have reported in the language of a treatise on sociology, but Carmel referred him to the files, and admonished him to study the style of the late Uncle Nupley. This he had done grimly, ironically, and the result was a parrotlike faithfulness.... He had also read and corrected all the proofs, to the end that the sensibilities of the community be not offended by grammatical _gaucheries_. He had been offended close to resignation when Carmel insisted upon running, in inch-tall, wooden type--across the top of the first page--this query: