difference to me if a man is ever so much a competitor; what I claim is,
let a sleeping dawg alone."

Mrs. Sammet indorsed the sentiment with another smile, and Sol with his
retinue passed on into the back parlour for the purpose of inspecting
the presents. In the meantime other guests had preceded them, and among
them was a man whose bearing and raiment proclaimed the creature of
fashion. Not only were his trousers of the latest narrow design, but
they were of sufficient modish brevity half to conceal and half to
reveal a pair of gossamer silk socks, which in their turn were incased
by patent-leather, low-cut shoes. The latter exhibited the square
knobbiness that only fashion artists can impart to the footgear of their
models, while the broad laces that held them by the insecure hold of two
eyelets were knotted in a bow that might have been appended to the
collar of Mr. Paderewski himself.

"Ain't this Mr. Gurin?" Sol Klinger asked, and the creature of fashion
nodded.

"You're a friend of the _Kahlo_, ain't it?" Klinger commented, employing
the vernacular equivalent for the English word "bride."

"In a way," Gurin said evasively; "_aber_ the _Khosan_ I don't know at
all."

Thus did Gurin imply that he was not acquainted with the future
bridegroom, and Klinger volunteered the information that Asimof ran a
dry-goods store in Dotyville, Pennsylvania.

"I sold him goods for years," he added, "and I guess I would continue to