it. Judy, my dear, allow me to introduce quite an old friend, Mr. Whitman Colebridge, of . . . of . . . wait!" He held up a thin hand, smiling. "Of Cincinnati."
"Now that's pretty smart of you, sir, to remember that," exclaimed the younger man, who had shaken hands strongly with Judy.
"I don't know why it is," Stephen remarked to Judy, "but in America it's always 'Mr. Jones of St. Louis,' or 'Mr. Smith of Council Bluffs,' or Mr. Robinson of Denver.' One learns to associate the name with the place."
"Which shows," suggested Judy, "that a love of titles still lingers in the Republican breast."
"That's so, I expect," smiled Mr. Colebridge, in whose eyes Judy, it seemed, had immediately found favor. "But what about this old-fashioned vehicle of yours? This doesn't signify that you're an invalid, I trust?"
"I've been a miserable, good-for-nothing old man for some time," Stephen answered, "with most of Job's ailments, but without his virtues. Now, however, since Miss Pendleton of London has come to lighten my darkness, I mean to get well. Yes, distinctly I mean to get well."
"That's fine!" approved Mr. Colebridge. "This one-man Victoria that you've got here
