"I forget," said Jim, indifferently; "I daresay there is. Most of the girls in these shops are dark." "I recollect you mentioned this one to me particularly," said Koko. "Did I?" replied Jim. "Well, I daresay I did. Anyhow, I haven’t the faintest idea what I’m going to get. Been thinking about it for three weeks, too." "Personally," said Koko, "I am going to buy her a work-box." "A _what_?" "A work-box--full of pins and needles and tapes, and all that sort of thing." "I thought ladies used work-_baskets_," hazarded Jim, vaguely. "Boxes," said Koko. "_Baskets_," insisted Jim; "work-_boxes_ are a trifle obsolete, I believe." "Obsolete or not obsolete," said Koko, "I shall get her a work-_box_." "All right," returned Jim; "I don’t care." Koko stole a glance at Jim as they walked up Waterloo Place. He had noticed, of late, that Jim was looking unusually gaunt and thin. Koko felt very sorry for his friend, for, in spite of the Long ’Un’s lively manner, Koko saw that his old chum was quite a different man now to the jaunty youth who had been the life and soul of Matt’s. "I must get him away for a holiday," thought Koko, in his quiet way; "this business has knocked him over a bit." They stood for some time outside the shop staring at the array of presents in the window. Koko was staunch to his work-box, but Jim, after gazing into the window for five minutes, was still quite undecided. At length he declared he would leave it to the dark girl. [Illustration: JIM WAS STILL QUITE UNDECIDED.] Koko walked in first, and, espying the dark girl, approached her part of the counter. Very soon a dozen work-boxes lay before him, and he was not long in making up his mind about one. Then, true to his programme, he had it well stocked with everything that Dora could possibly require--even down to a box of matches. "You never know when you won’t want matches," he explained to Jim. "Well," said Jim, brusquely, "you’ve got your work-box. Now what about me?" "Go ahead," said Koko; "there are about twenty thousand things to choose from in this shop." "A present for a lady?" queried the dark girl. "Yes," said Jim; "a wedding present." "I know the very thing," she said, and took down from a shelf near by an ivory fan with forget-me-nots painted by hand upon it. "Yes, very pretty," agreed Jim; "but--er--I should prefer some other kind of flower." The dark girl fancied she understood. "I have another ivory fan that is just as pretty as this one. I will get it." The fan was brought. Upon the pure ivory was painted a little sprig of rosemary. "’That’s for remembrance,’" quoted Koko, softly. And so Jim chose the ivory fan as a wedding present for Dora. *CHAPTER XXIV.* *JIM CATCHES A TRAIN.*