And he kissed her on the cheek.

“That’s more than I ever did to Georgie,” he said to himself.

“Why, Samuel!” laughed Abigail with a faded blush.  “What’s ever got into you?”

“Dunno!” he retorted gaily.  “The spring, I guess.  What do you say to a little dinner at a restaurant and then going to the play?”

She bridled—­being one of the generation who did such things—­with pleasure.

“Seems to me you’re getting rather extravagant.” she objected.  “Still—­”

“Oh, come along!” he bullied her.  “One of my clients collected five thousand dollars this afternoon.”

Tutt summoned a taxi and they drove to the brightest, most glittering of Broadway hostelries.  Abigail had never been in such a chic place before.  It half terrified and shocked her, all those women in dresses that hardly came up to their armpits.  Some of them were handsome though.  That slim one at the table by the pillar, for instance.  She was really quite lovely with that mass of yellow-golden hair, that startlingly white skin, and those misty China-blue eyes.  And the gentleman with her, the tall man with the pink cheeks, was very handsome, too.

“Look, Samuel,” she said, touching his hand.  “See that good-looking couple over there.”

But Samuel was looking at them already—­intently.  And just then the beautiful woman turned and, catching sight of the Tutts, smiled cordially if somewhat roguishly and raised her glass, as did her companion.  Mechanically Tutt elevated his.  The three drank to one another.

“Do you know those people, Samuel?” inquired Mrs. Tutt somewhat stiffly.  “Who are they?”

“Oh, those over there?” he repeated absently.  “I don’t really know what the lady’s name is, she’s been down to our office a few times.  But the man is Winthrop Oaklander—­and the funny part of it is, I always thought he was a clergyman.”

Later in the evening he turned to her between the acts and remarked inconsequently:  “Say, Abbie, do I look as if I’d just had my hair cut?”

The Dog Andrew

  “Every dog is entitled to one bite.”—­UNREPORTED
  OPINION OF THE APPELLATE DIVISION OF THE NEW
  YORK SUPREME COURT.

“Now see here!” shouted Mr. Appleboy, coming out of the boathouse, where he was cleaning his morning’s catch of perch, as his neighbor Mr. Tunnygate crashed through the hedge and cut across Appleboy’s parched lawn to the beach.  “See here, Tunnygate, I won’t have you trespassing on my place!  I’ve told you so at least a dozen times!  Look at the hole you’ve made in that hedge, now!  Why can’t you stay in the path?”