'Jimmy,' cried the Boy Novelist, 'what do you think has happened! A black cat has just come into my apartment. I heard him mewing outside the door, and opened it, and he streaked in. And I started my new novel last night! Say, you _do_ believe this thing of black cats bringing luck, don't you?' 'Luck! My lad, grapple that cat to your soul with hoops of steel. He's the greatest little luck-bringer in New York. He was boarding with me till this morning.' 'Then--by Jove! I nearly forgot to ask--your play was a hit? I haven't seen the papers yet' 'Well, when you see them, don't read the notices. It was the worst frost Broadway has seen since Columbus's time.' 'But--I don't understand.' 'Don't worry. You don't have to. Go back and fill that cat with fish, or she'll be leaving you. I suppose you left the door open?' 'My God!' said the Boy Novelist, paling, and dashed for the door. 'Do you think Joseph _will_ bring him luck?' said Elizabeth, thoughtfully. 'It depends what sort of luck you mean. Joseph seems to work in devious ways. If I know Joseph's methods, Briggs's new novel will be rejected by every publisher in the city; and then, when he is sitting in his apartment, wondering which of his razors to end himself with, there will be a ring at the bell, and in will come the most beautiful girl in the world, and then--well, then, take it from me, he will be all right.' 'He won't mind about the novel?' 'Not in the least.' 'Not even if it means that he will have to go away and kill pigs and things.' 'About the pig business, dear. I've noticed a slight tendency in you to let yourself get rather morbid about it. I know they string them up by the hind-legs, and all that sort of thing; but you must remember that a pig looks at these things from a different standpoint. My belief is that the pigs like it. Try not to think of it.' 'Very well,' said Elizabeth, dutifully. THE ROMANCE OF AN UGLY POLICEMAN Crossing the Thames by Chelsea Bridge, the wanderer through London finds himself in pleasant Battersea. Rounding the Park, where the female of the species wanders with its young by the ornamental water where the wild-fowl are, he comes upon a vast road. One side of this is given up to Nature, the other to Intellect. On the right, green trees stretch into the middle distance; on the left, endless blocks of residential flats. It is Battersea Park Road, the home of the cliff-dwellers. Police-constable Plimmer's beat embraced the first quarter of a mile of the cliffs. It was his duty to pace in the measured fashion of the London policeman along the front of them, turn to the right, turn to the left, and come back along the road which ran behind them. In this way he was enabled to keep the king's peace over no fewer than four blocks of mansions.