The Bridgeport evening farmer., 1913-01-18

head. My wits struggled with his ex- planation. It is my wish to reduce in formation to plain terms.
 Are these gentlemen, then, your ri- vals for the hand of Miss Cecilia Hol- lister? If so, they are solemn band of suitors, must confess"
 You have hit it, Ames.. They are 1 suitors, assembled from all parts of the world"
 Mice looking fellows, except the chap with the monocle, who has just ordered rather more liquor than a gen tIeman should at this hour"
 That is Lord Arrowood. I have feared at times that Miss Octavia ia vored him."
 Possibly, but not likely. But how long is this thing going to last? If you fellows are going to hang on here until Miss Cecilia Hol1ister has chosen one of you for her husband I shud- der for your nerves. 1 imagine that any one of these gentlemen is likely to begin shooting across his plate at any minute. Such a situation would be- come intoIerabIe very quickly if I were in the game and forced to lodge here''
 'tI hope" replied Wiggins with heat, ''that you don't imagine these fellows can crowd me out I've paid for a months lodging in advance. and if you will stand by me I'm going to win.''
 Spoken like a man, my dear Wig gins! You may count on me to the sweet or bitter end, even if pull down all the superb chimnSys with which Pepperton adorned that house up yon- der"
 He silently cIasped my hand. A lit tie later I telephoned from the inn to my office explaining my absence and instructing my assistant to visit sev- eral pressing clients, and I instructed the valet at the Hare and Tortoise to send me a weeks supply of linen and an odd suit CT two.
 At about o'clock I left Wiggtns in first rate spirits and set out on my re- turn to Hopef1eld Manor.
 I made wrong turn on leaving the Prescott Arms, and I came out pres ently near Katonah village. I got my bearings of a. shopkeeper and started again for HopefieId Manor, but the midafternoon was warm. and the hills were steep, and as Miss Hollister's ad mirable cob showed signs of weariness. drove into a fence corner and loosen ed the mares check. On a sunny slope several hundred yards above the high way lay an orchard, advertised to the larcenous eye by the ruddiest of red apples. Not in many years had l rob bed an orchard, and I felt irresistibly drawn toward the gnarIed trees, which were still, in their old age, abundantly fruitful.
 I drew down a bough and plucked my first apple, tasted and found it good At my palate's first responsive utilization something whizzed past my ear, and, following the flight of the missile, I saw an apple of goodly size fall and roll away into the grass. I had imagined myself utterly alone, and even now as I looked guiltily around no one was in sight. The ap- pie had passed my ear swiftly and at an angle quite un-Newtonian. It had been fairly aimed at my head, and the law of gravitation did not account for it. AS continued my scrutiny of the landscape I was addressed by a voice whose accents were not objurgatory. Rather, the tone was good natured and indulgent if not indeed a tride patronizing. The words were these:
 Soup of the evening, beautiful soup!
 It was then that, lifting my eyes, I beheld, sitting lengthwise of the wall, with her feet drawn comfortably un-
 
 bareheaded, munching an apple. There was no question of identity. It was the girl whose head behind the cash ier's grill of the Asolando had inter ested me on the occasion of my sec ond visit to the tea room. In soliciting my attention by reciting a line of verse she had merely followed the rule of the tea room in like circum- stances. The casting of the apple at my head possessed the virtue of nov city. While tried to think of some thing to say I pecked at my own ap- pie, but kept an eye on her. She con- cluded her repast calmly and flung away the cQ0e
 'I mentioned soup,'' she remarked. The courses are mixed. We have partaken of fruit. Are you fish, flesh. fowl or good red herring?''
 Gro Be Continued.)