The Millionaire Baby received three more boxes--that is, he received the limited portion that a paternal government allowed him. Then, being chastened, he took a despicable revenge--he stopped the supply. "Well, it was sweet while it lasted," said Dennis regretfully. "We've stopped toadyism in the House," said Stover virtuously. "We have eliminated the influence of money." "That is praiseworthy, but it doesn't fill me with enthusiasm." "Dink," said the Tennessee Shad, "I must say I consider this one of your few failures. You're a great administrator, but you don't understand the theory of taxation." "I don't, eh? Well, what is the theory?" "The theory of taxation," said the Tennessee Shad, "is to soak the taxed all they'll stand for, but to leave them just enough, so they'll come again." XXIV No sooner had Mr. John H. Stover returned from the serious developments of the summer, arranged his new possessions and brought forward the photograph of Miss McCarty to a position on the edge of his bureau, where he could turn to it the last thing at night and again behold it with his waiting glance, than a horrible coincidence appeared. Among the festive decorations that made the corporate home of Dink and the Tennessee Shad a place to visit and admire was, as has been related, a smashing poster of a ballet dancer in the costume of an amazon parader. Up to now Dink had shared the just pride of the Tennessee Shad in this rakish exhibit that somehow gave the possessor the reputation of having an acquaintance with stage entrances. But on the second morning when his faithful glance turned to the protecting presence of Miss McCarty resting among the brushes, it paused a moment on the representative of the American dramatic profession, who was coquettishly trying to conceal one foot behind her ear. Then he sat bolt upright with a start. By some strange perversion of the fate that delights in torturing lovers, the features of the immodestly clothed amazon bore the most startling resemblance to that paragon of celestial purity, Miss Josephine McCarty. The more he gazed the more astounding was the impression. He gazed and then he did not gaze at all--it seemed like a profanation. The resemblance, once perceived, positively haunted him; stand where he might his eyes could see nothing but the seraphic head of Miss McCarty upon the unspeakable body of the amazon--and then those legs! For days this centaurian combination tortured him without his being able to evolve a satisfactory method of removing the blasphemous poster. A direct attack was quite out of the question, for manifestly the Tennessee Shad would demand an adequate explanation for the destruction of his treasured possession. There could be no explanation except the true one, and such a confession was unthinkable, even to a roommate under oath.