“She said I mustn't, MUSTN'T tell that she told me to tell! My goodness! I forgot that! Mamma took me off alone right after dinner, an' she told me to tell you this joke on her a little after she an' papa had left the house, but she said, 'Above all THINGS,' she said, 'DON'T let Willie know _I_ said to tell him.' That's just what she said, an' here that's the very first thing I had to go an' do!” “Well, what of it?” Jane quieted down. The pangs of her remorse were lost in her love of sensationalism, and her voice sank to the thrilling whisper which it was one of her greatest pleasures to use. “Did you hear what a fuss papa was makin' when he was dressin' for the card-party?” “_I_ don't care if--” “He had to go in his reg'lar clo'es!” whispered Jane, triumphantly. “An' this is the joke on mamma: you know that tailor that let papa's dress-suit 'way, 'way out; well, Mamma thinks that tailor must think she's crazy, or somep'm 'cause she took papa's dress-suit to him last Monday to get it pressed for this card-party, an she guesses he must of understood her to tell him to do lots besides just pressin' it. Anyway, he went an' altered it, an' he took it 'way, 'way IN again; an' this afternoon when it came back it was even tighter 'n what it was in the first place, an' papa couldn't BEGIN to get into it! Well, an' so it's all pressed an' ev'ything, an' she stopped on the way out, an' whispered to me that she'd got so upset over the joke on her that she couldn't remember where she put it when she took it out o' papa's room after he gave up tryin' to get inside of it. An' that,” cried Jane--“that's the funniest thing of all! Why, it's layin' right on her bed this very minute!” In one bound William leaped through the open door. Two seconds sufficed for his passage through the hall to his mother's bedroom--and there, neatly spread upon the lace coverlet and brighter than coronation robes, fairer than Joseph's holy coat, It lay! XXV YOUTH AND MR. PARCHER As a hurried worldling, in almost perfectly fitting evening clothes, passed out of his father's gateway and hurried toward the place whence faintly came the sound of dance-music, a child's voice called sweetly from an unidentified window of the darkened house behind him: “Well, ANYWAY, you try and have a good time, Willie!” William made no reply; he paused not in his stride. Jane's farewell injunction, though obviously not ill-intended, seemed in poor taste, and a reply might have encouraged her to believe that, in some measure at least, he condescended to discuss his inner life with her. He departed rapidly, but with hauteur. The moon was up, but shade-trees were thick along the sidewalk, and the hauteur was invisible to any human eye; nevertheless, William considered it necessary.