“I don't know much about society,” Little Ann remarked,--“I never saw any either up-town or down-town or in the country,--but I shouldn't think you'd have to have a college education to write the things you see about it in the newspaper paragraphs.” Tembarom grinned. “They're not real high-brow stuff, are they,” he said. “'There was a brilliant gathering on Tuesday evening at the house of Mr. Jacob Sturtburger at 79 Two Hundredth Street on the occasion of the marriage of his daughter Miss Rachel Sturtburger to Mr. Eichenstein. The bride was attired in white peau de cygne trimmed with duchess lace.'” Little Ann took him up. “I don't know what peau de cygne is, and I daresay the bride doesn't. I've never been to anything but a village school, but I could make up paragraphs like that myself.” “That's the up-town kind,” said Tembarom. “The down-town ones wear their mothers' point-lace wedding-veils some-times, but they're not much different. Say, I believe I could do it if I had luck.” “So do I,” returned Little Ann. Tembarom looked down at the carpet, thinking the thing over. Ann went on sewing. “That's the way with you,” he said presently: “you put things into a fellow's head. You've given me a regular boost, Little Ann.” It is not unlikely that but for the sensible conviction in her voice he would have felt less bold when, two weeks later, Biker, having gone upon a “bust” too prolonged, was dismissed with-out benefit of clergy, and Galton desperately turned to Tembarom with anxious question in his eye. “Do you think you could take this job?” he said. Tembarom's heart, as he believed at the time, jumped into his throat. “What do you think, Mr. Galton?” he asked. “It isn't a thing to think about,” was Galton's answer. “It's a thing I must be sure of.” “Well,” said Tembarom, “if you give it to me, I'll put up a mighty hard fight before I fall down.” Galton considered him, scrutinizing keenly his tough, long-built body, his sharp, eager, boyish face, and especially his companionable grin. “We'll let it go at that,” he decided. “You'll make friends up in Harlem, and you won't find it hard to pick up news. We can at least try it.” Tembarom's heart jumped into his throat again, and he swallowed it once more. He was glad he was not holding his hat in his hand because he knew he would have forgotten himself and thrown it up into the air. “Thank you, Mr. Galton,” he said, flushing tremendously. “I'd like to tell you how I appreciate your trusting me, but I don't know how. Thank you, sir.” When he appeared in Mrs. Bowse's dining-room that evening there was a glow of elation about him and a swing in his entry which attracted all eyes at once. For some unknown reason everybody looked at him, and, meeting his eyes, detected the presence of some new exultation. “Landed anything, T. T.?” Jim Bowles cried out. “You look it.”