Charmingbland, the hotel clerk, got himself into a devil of a fix, it was said, for hinting foul play and collusion between Little Eva and Uncle Tom. Uncle Tom was a good enough fellow, though pale at times, and made a dramatic exit when the Chinaman lost his cue. Of course there was a tremendous sensation, and speculation of all sorts over what Clangingharp’s son would have done if Clangingharp had had one. That led Padmarx, dramatic editor of _The Evening Coat_, to put on a copy and go behind the scenes to interview Ellen Squigs. “Say, Squigsy,” he wheedled, “where’s Clangingharp?” Squigsy went right on frizzing her hair with a curling-iron, and said she wasn’t no slouch and wasn’t going to be bluffed by Championoar nor any other dude. That made Padmarx curious, and he asked Squigsy if she really thought she could act. Squigsy rushed at Padmarx and ran the hot curling-iron all over his dress shirt, making long, irregular scorches on the bosom. Padmarx buttoned up his ulster and went out after the ball. Late that night a stranger walked up to Charmingbland, pulled off a false mustache and said furtively: “There, you idiot—dyuh recognize meh now?” “Strings Clangingharp, by Gawd,” remarked Charmingbland, “where you been?” Clangingharp put his mustache on crooked, and they sat down at a table in the bar-room from which Charmingbland could see anybody that tried to steal the silver card-platters off the desk. Clangingharp drank eleven cocktails before he said a word, then he put his finger to his mustache to enjoin maudlin secrecy upon Charmingbland and said: “Shay, ol’ man. Want t’ know w’er I been? Been zh’ gol’ cure, ol’ man. Zhay wouldn’ take me. Gimme some pepper there!” And he spread himself, like a green bay tree. FRANK W. NOXON. TO THE MAIDEN THE SEA WAS BLUE MEADOW ALIVE WITH LITTLE FROTH-PEOPLE SINGING. TO THE SAILOR, WRECKED, THE SEA WAS DEAD GREY WALLS SUPERLATIVE IN VACANCY UPON WHICH NEVERTHELESS AT FATEFUL TIME, WAS WRITTEN THE GRIM HATRED OF NATURE. STEPHEN CRANE. DEATH THE DOORWAY.