the lips of my heroines became flat and unconvincing,

I assured her I was not at all hurt and endeavored, jauntily, to
replace my hat. But where my head had hit the telegraph pole a
large bump had risen which made my hat too small. So I hung it on
the bump. It gave me a rakish air. One of the chorus returned my
bag and another the "Log." Not wishing to remind Miss Briggs of my
past impertinences; I guiltily concealed it.

Then the policeman asked my name and I gave the one I had just
invented, and inquired my way to the Parker House. Half the chorus
volunteered to act as my escort, and as I departed, I stole a last
look at Miss Briggs. She and the policeman were taking down the
pedigree of the chauffeur of the car that had hit me. He was trying
to persuade them he was not intoxicated, and with each speech was
furnishing evidence to the contrary.

After I had given a cold bath to the bump on my head and to the
rest of my body which for the moment seemed the lesser of the two,
I got into dry things and seated myself on the veranda of the
hotel. With a cigar to soothe my jangling nerves, I considered the
position of Miss Briggs and myself. I was happy in believing it had
improved. On the morrow there was no law to prevent me from
visiting Hatchardson's Bookstore, and in view of what had happened
since last I left it, I had reason to hope Miss Briggs would
receive me more, kindly. Of the correctness of this diagnosis I was
at once assured. In front of the hotel a district messenger-boy
fell off his bicycle and with unerring instinct picked me out as
Mr. Fitzgibbon of New York. The note he carried was from Miss
Briggs. It stated that in the presence of so many people it had