“Oh! Ain’t you ashamed? And you so old, too! Fade away!” “My dear young lady!” The Professor did not understand what the girl meant, but he gathered that she was reproving him. “My dear young lady! It is because I am so old that I venture to address you. As I say, I have been studying your appearance, and I want to talk with you quietly. If you will go with me to----” Miss Lee flushed. “Ain’t you the frisky grandpop!” she demanded scornfully. “Back to the bald-headed row for yours. You mashers make me tired. Gee! I’ll have to take to eating onions to keep you off. I take it right hard that you should let me in for this, Mr. Bristow. You know I ain’t that sort.” Bristow had been listening in secret amusement, but at the girl’s protest he started forward. “It’s all right, Miss Lee!” he said. “The Professor really wants to talk to you on business. He is to be my father-in-law, and I wouldn’t think of encouraging him in any capers. He’s no masher.” “Masher!” At last the Professor understood. “Good heavens!” he exclaimed. “Do you take me for one of those vapid fools that exhibit themselves on the street corners? I should have thought my white hair would have shielded me from such an imputation. After all, however, it may be natural enough. I suppose I began wrong. But I am not that kind. Without denying your evident attractions, young lady, I assure you that I have sought you for a very different reason. This is strictly business. I can’t talk here. Perhaps”--an idea struck the Professor--“perhaps you will do me the honor of dining with me at some place near here--any place you like to name!” For some moments the girl stared at him shrewdly. After all, perhaps---- “I guess I made a mistake,” she said at last, slowly. “It’s hard to guess sometimes. I’ll take dinner with you and hear what you’ve got to say. But you take my tip and don’t try any funny business, or I’ll call a cop. See?” The Professor nodded. “All right, then,” declared the girl. “There’s a spaghetti emporium right back of here on Sixth Avenue. We’ll go there.” A few moments later the trio were sitting in a huge plate-glass restaurant, and Miss Lee, at the Professor’s request, was ordering a somewhat elaborate dinner. Then, while she awaited its coming, she leaned forward across the table. “Well!” she began, ignoring Bristow, who plainly desired to remain in the background. “Well, now’s the time to spring the story of your life in thirteen chapters and tell what led up to this thrilling moment--unless you’d rather wait till after the tooth-picks. You ain’t going to spring an Arabian Nights fable on me, are you?” “Perhaps I may.” “Really! Well, all right. I’m willing. Go ahead.” The waiter brought the soup, and the girl began to eat with elaborate interest. The Professor noted that her table manners were good and would arouse no suspicion. Her slangy way of speaking gave him some misgivings, but he put them aside. “My name,” he began, “is Shishkin.”