“That,” answered Reddy, slapping the page with his open hand—a page overflowing with heavy headlines and further embellished with a group of photographs. “Now who’d ’a’ thought that anybody would iver want t’ put my ugly mug in the paper?” “Sure ’tis no uglier than lots of others,” protested Mrs. Magraw, gazing at it fondly. “Mebbe so; but this here picter don’t look nothin’ like what I see when I looks in the glass.” “Well,” said Mrs. Magraw, examining it critically, “it ain’t jest what I’d call a perfect likeness; but the eyes are yours an’ the nose an’ the mouth.” “If they are, they ain’t put together right,” said Reddy. “I’ve often wondered how a criminal could git away when the papers all over the country was printin’ his picter, but I understand now. If I’d done somethin’ an’ was runnin’ away an’ was arrested on suspicion, I could prove by that picter that they’d got the wrong man.” “Well, anyways,” said Mrs. Magraw, “we gits half a dozen cabinets fer lettin’ ’em take it.” “’Twas real generous,” agreed Reddy. “But I wish they was of the baby. I niver thought that I’d iver ag’in face a cammery. The last picter I had took, darlint, was whin I was courtin’ ye.” “Yes, an’ I’ve got it yet, as ye know,” said Mrs. Magraw, “an’ a love of a picter it is.” “All that I raymimber about it is that me pants was very tight an’ me shoes was killin’ me,” said Reddy, with a smile of reminiscence. “However, I was ready an’ willin’ to suffer any torture—even to cuttin’ off me toes if ye thought me feet too big.” “As if I iver looked at yer feet! It was in your honest blue eyes that I looked, Reddy Magraw, an’ nowheres else.” “Well, I reckon we didn’t either of us make no mistake, darlint,” said Reddy comfortably. “We ain’t niver been bothered by a bank account, ’tis true; but nayther have we starved or gone naked.” Mrs. Magraw patted him on the shoulder as a token of her approval of the sentiment. “Let’s see the other picters,” she said. “There’s Jack Welsh an’ Stanley—trust him t’ have his picter ready.” “Yes,” chuckled Reddy, “an’ anybody could recognize it a mile off by the nose.” “But where’s Allan?” Reddy chuckled again. “Didn’t have none; neither did Mamie—at least, that’s what they said. But that didn’t trouble most o’ the papers none. They jest went ahead an’ made ’em up. One feller must ’a’ cut his picter o’ Mamie out of a fashion paper, an’ another used one of them skinny magazine girls, with their hair all a-flyin’ around their faces. An’ Allan—he looks like one of them young hayroes from the ready-made suit advertisements.” “An’ does that look like the house?” asked Mrs. Magraw, indicating a building, with smoke and flames pouring from it in a truly terrifying manner, which further ornamented the newspaper’s account of the rescue. “Well,” said Reddy, cautiously, “it does in a gineral way. It’s got four walls an’ a roof an’ some windeys. Furder ’n that I wouldn’t keer t’ go.” “An’ have ye read the story?”