Mike yawned, stretched and sat up, pushing his shapeless hat to the back of his round hot head. He drew his sleeve across his streaming forehead and yawned and stretched again. "You ought to relax, James," said he, cutting a square from the plug of tobacco that he carried carefully wrapped in a soiled piece of tinfoil. "Youse will have noivous prostration one of these days with the strenuous life youse leads. The modern hurry and worry is all wrong. Now, take me—" "No one would take you, not even a kodak," sneered James, scowling before him moodily. "The matter with you, James," said Mike, sticking the tobacco into his mouth with the blade of his knife, "the matter with you is youse are harboring and cultivating that green-eyed monster called jealousy. Youse are, in short, jealous of me young friend, the Watermillion." "Aw, jealous of a kid! Who? Me? Not on your tin-type." "You say so, James. We all deny the werminous cancers that gnaw our vitals. But look into your own heart, question yourself—" "Aw, pound yer ear," snapped James. Some one was heard approaching and Mike paused from cleaning the blade of his knife in the ground before him to listen. "The youth comes," said he, and rose clumsily to his little fat legs. He stepped aside to see up the path, but James did not move. "A radiant vision of manly beauty," announced Mike, one hand on his heart, the other shading his small eyes as though dazzled by a great and brilliant light. James glanced up sullenly. A youth was coming through the trees, tall and graceful and broad-shouldered. His suit of soft brown, his gently tipped panama, his light shoes and silk socks brought with them a breath of motor-cars and steam yachts, of the smoker in a railway train, with a white-clad, attentive porter, instead of the brake beam underneath and an irate station-master and furious conductor. From the lapel of his coat gleamed a heavy gold chain and in his stylish tie a pin of odd but costly workmanship caught the eye of the enraptured beholder. Mike laid his hand on his heart again, removed his hat, and standing aside for the youth to pass, bowed low. "Me lud," said he in humble salutation. [Illustration: "Me lud," he said in humble salutation] James glanced up from his seat under the butternut tree. He regarded the vision of affluence before him a moment in growing admiration and awe. Then he removed his pipe and spoke. "You’ll get three years for this," said he cheerfully, and put his pipe back into his mouth. "Three nothing," sneered the Watermelon. "Jealousy," said Mike, putting his hat on the back of his frowsy head. "Jealousy maketh the tongue cruel and the heart bitter. Me," he spread forth his fat dirty hands, "me beauty is such it gives me no concern. I realize youse can not gild the lily." The Watermelon drew himself up to his full height, threw back his shoulders and fastidiously adjusted his cuffs, with their heavy gold links.