He played the game as my mother forced it upon him, though at times, I think, it bored and chafed him sorely. What chafed him even more sorely was the unprecedented interest many young ladies--and some old enough to know better--suddenly evinced in entomology. Mr. Flint almost overnight developed a savage cunning in eluding the seekers of entomological lore. One might suppose a single man would rejoice to see his drab workroom swarm with these brightly-colored fluttering human butterflies; he bore their visits as visitations, displaying the chastened resignation Job probably showed toward the latest ultra-sized carbuncle. "Cheer up!" urged Laurence, who was watching this turn of affairs with unfeeling mirth. "The worst is yet to come. These are only the chickens: wait until the hens get on your trail!" "Mr. Flint," said Mary Virginia one afternoon, rubbing salt into his smarting wounds, "Mr. Flint, I am so glad all the girls like you so much. You fascinate them. They say you are such a profoundly clever and interesting man, Mr. Flint! Why, some of those girls are perfectly demented about you!" "Demented," said he, darkly, "is the right word for them when it comes down to fussing about _me_." Now Laurence had just caught him in his rooms, and, declaring that he looked overworked and pale, had dragged him forcibly outside on the porch, where we were now sitting. Mary Virginia, in a white skirt, sport coat, and a white felt hat which made her entrancingly pretty, had been visiting my mother and now strolled over to John Flint's, after her old fashion. "I feel like making the greatest sort of a fuss about you myself," she said honestly. "Anyhow, I'm mighty glad girls like you. It's a good sign." "If they do--though God knows I can't see why--I'm obliged to them, seeing it pleases _you_!" said Flint, without, however, showing much gratitude in eyes or voice. "To tell you the truth, it looks to me at times as if they were wished on me." Mary Virginia tried to look horrified, and giggled instead. "If I could only make any of them understand anything!" said the Butterfly Man desperately, "but I can't. If only they really wanted to know, I'd be more than glad to teach them. But they don't. I show them and show them and tell them and tell them, over and over and over again, and the same thing five minutes later, and they haven't even listened! They don't care. What do they take up my time and say they like my butterflies for, when they don't like them at all and don't want to know anything about them? That's what gets me!" Laurence winked at Mary Virginia, shamelessly. "Bugs!" said he, inelegantly. "That's what's intended to get you, you old duffer!" "Mr. Flint," said Mary Virginia, with dancing eyes. "I don't blame those girls one single solitary bit for wanting to know all about--butterflies." "But they don't want to know, I tell you!" Mr. Flint's voice rose querulously.