[Illustration: "I'll come here, I'll be your model, I'll sit for you by the hour"] MURDER IN ANY DEGREE: ONE HUNDRED IN THE DARK: A COMEDY FOR WIVES: THE LIE: EVEN THREES: A MAN OF NO IMAGINATION: LARRY MOORE: MY WIFE'S WEDDING PRESENTS: THE SURPRISES OF THE LOTTERY BY OWEN JOHNSON Author of "Stover at Yale," "The Varmint," etc., etc. WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY F.R. GRUGER AND LEON GUIPON NEW YORK THE CENTURY CO. 1913 1907, 1912, 1913, THE CENTURY CO. 1911, THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY 1911, THE NATIONAL POST CO. 1912, GOOD HOUSEKEEPING MAGAZINE 1908, THE RIDGWAY COMPANY 1906, ASSOCIATED SUNDAY MAGAZINES, INCORPORATED 1910, THE PEARSON PUBLISHING COMPANY _Published, August, 1913_ CONTENTS MURDER IN ANY DEGREE ONE HUNDRED IN THE DARK A COMEDY FOR WIVES THE LIE EVEN THREES A MAN OF NO IMAGINATION LARRY MOORE MY WIFE'S WEDDING PRESENTS THE SURPRISES OF THE LOTTERY ILLUSTRATIONS "I'll come here, I'll be your model, I'll sit for you by the hour" From his tone the group perceived that the hazards had brought to him some abrupt coincidence Rantoul, ... decorating his ankles with lavender and black Our Lady of the Sparrows "Oh, tell me, little ball, is it ta-ta or good-by?" Wild-eyed and hilarious they descended on the clubhouse with the miraculous news A committee carefully examined the books of the club "You gave him--the tickets! The Lottery Tickets!" MURDER IN ANY DEGREE I One Sunday in March they had been marooned at the club, Steingall the painter and Quinny the illustrator, and, having lunched late, had bored themselves separately to their limits over the periodicals until, preferring to bore each other, they had gravitated together in easy arm-chairs before the big Renaissance fireplace. Steingall, sunk in his collar, from behind the black-rimmed spectacles, which, with their trailing ribbon of black, gave a touch of Continental elegance to his cropped beard and colonel's mustaches, watched without enthusiasm the three mammoth logs, where occasional tiny flames gave forth an illusion of heat. Quinny, as gaunt as a militant friar of the Middle Ages, aware of Steingall's protective reverie, spoke in desultory periods, addressing himself questions and supplying the answers, reserving his epigrams for a larger audience. At three o'clock De Gollyer entered from a heavy social performance, raising his eyebrows in salute as others raise their hats, and slightly dragging one leg behind. He was an American critic who was busily engaged in discovering the talents of unrecognized geniuses of the European provinces. When reproached with his migratory enthusiasm, he would reply, with that quick, stiffening military click with which he always delivered his _bons mots_: "My boy, I never criticize American art. I can't afford to. I have too many charming friends."