“Miss Marfy, Miss Callena: Miss Callena, Miss Marfy,” repeated Mr. Taft, as he stood musing after his visitor had gone. It may have been zeal in the cause of his good friend, or it may have been some very natural desire for appreciation of his own merits, that prompted Alonzo Taft to dress with such extreme care for his visit to Miss Callena Johnson on the next night. He did explain his haste to make the call by telling himself that if he was going to do anything for Mr. Dunkin he had better be about it. But this anxiety on his protégé’s account did not explain why he put on his fawn-coloured waistcoat, which he had never once worn when visiting Miss Martha, nor why he needed to be so extraordinarily long in tying his bow tie. His beaver was rubbed and caressed until it shone again. Major Richardson himself had not looked better in that blue Prince Albert coat, when it was a year newer. Thus arrayed, stepping manfully and twirling a tiny cane, did the redoubtable Mr. Taft set out for the conquest of Miss Callena Johnson. It is just possible that it was Alonzo’s absorption in his own magnificence that made him forgetfully walk down the very street on which Miss Martha Madison’s cottage was situated. Miss Martha was at the gate. He looked up and saw her, but too late to retreat. “La! Mistah Taf’,” said Miss Martha, smiling as she opened the gate for him. “I wasn’t expectin’ you dis evenin’. Walk right in.” “I—I—I—thank you, Miss Marfy, thank you,” replied the dark beau, a bit confused but stepping through the gateway. “It’s a mighty fine evenin’ we’re havin’.” “I don’t wunner you taken yo’se’f out fu’ a walk. I was thinkin’ ’bout goin’ out myse’f ontwell I seen you comin’ along. You mus’ ’a’ been mighty tuk up wif de weathah, ’cause you hahdly knowed when you got to de gate. I thought you was a-goin’ to pass on by.” “Oh, I couldn’t pass dis gate. I’m so used to comin’ hyeah dat I reckon my feet ’u’d jes’ tu’n up de walk of dey own accord.” “Dey didn’t tu’n up dat walk much Sunday. Whaih was you all day aftah mo’nin’ chu’ch? I ’spected you up in de aft’noon.” “I—I—would ’a’ been”—Mr. Taft was beginning to writhe upon his chair—“but I had to go out to mek some calls.” “Oh, yes,” retorted Miss Martha, good-naturedly, “I reckon you was one o’ dem gent’mans dat was settin’ up at de schoolteachah’s house.” “I fu’ one was callin’ on Miss Callena. Hit’s only propah when a strange lady come to town fu’ de gent’men to call an’ pay deir ’spects.” “I reckon hit ain’t propah fu’ de gent’mans to tek none o’ de ladies to call.” “I ain’t ’scussin’ dat,” said Mr. Taft, with some acerbity. “Of co’se you ain’t. Well, hit ain’t none o’ my bus’ness, to be sho. I ain’t thinkin’ nothin’ ’bout myse’f or none o’ de things you been sayin’ to me. But all I got to say is, you bettah leave Miss Callena, as you call huh, alone, ’cause evahbody say ol’ man Dunkin got his eyes sot on huh, an’ he gwine to win. Dey do say, too, dat he outsot you all, Sunday.”