does not give offense, that a young lady as pretty as yourself deserves better fortune in the matter of sweethearts."
"But what can a poor girl do if the boys don't come and propose?" smiled Miss Maloney as she accepted John T.'s card and proceeded to make out a charge slip for the floorman's approval.
"Tut, tut," laughed Derrington. "As if you didn't know you have the whole thing in your own hands, what? Eh, what?"
Miss Maloney shook her handsome head doubtfully.
"I'll tell you what, young lady," declared John Thomas, "I'll make it an object for you, yourself, to prove I'm right. If you marry within six months I'll make you a present of the handsomest dinner ring in New York."
"I'm sure you're very generous," answered Miss Maloney in a rather noncommittal way, handing John T. his wrapped package. "I hope you won't forget it; but I'm afraid there is little chance for me."
Leaving John Thomas to journey homeward, and Miss Anita Maloney to go back to the business of selling guaranteed $90 diamond rings, this day only $49.98, we must proceed to the home of David Belford, where, as may be surmised, a most uncomfortable half hour awaited Mr. Frederick.
In the Belford library, a rather somber but ornate room, finished in carved mahogany and tooled Spanish leather with bronze lighting fixtures and wood-green draperies at windows and doors, David himself fidgeted nervously back and forth before the huge pyramid fireplace in expectation of the momentary entrance of his son, whom he had had summoned to the presence.
Frederick entered, a fine, well set up young fellow, broad of shoulder and blonde of head, yet a young man not yet completely over the embarrassing knowledge of possessing uncomfortable hands and feet; a knowledge further complicated by an alarming propensity of the face assuming the color of a fresh-cut beet at the slightest provocation, and of the tongue to suddenly feel so large that it seemed to completely fill the mouth, making coherent speech difficult. In a word, Frederick was diffident.
The failing of fathers, especially fathers with money, is common knowledge. David Belford already suspected the worst; yet, since he really loved this handsome lad, he began gently.
"Now then, Frederick, my boy, what's all this I hear about marriage?" he asked.
As has before been intimated, an easy flow of language was not one of Frederick's long suits, less so under stress of excitement than upon ordinary occasions. His face promptly assumed the rubicund appearance of a newly spanked infant and he could only stammer:
'"Ma-marriage, poppa; great heavens!"
Certainly this might be called a non-committal statement, however you interpret it; yet, in David Belford's mind, it became an almost complete confession of guilt. He began to rave and sputter like fat over a blazing fire.
"Now then, Frederick, I won't have it, that's all there is about it," he finally
