The Two-Stepper could not forget the Girl from Another Town.  She pulled out next Day but he looked up the Address and sent her the Dance Programme that he had found in his Overcoat Pocket.  She wrote back that it was Awfully Sweet of him to remember poor little Me and then she asked one or two Questions.  That gave him a Hunch, so he bought a new kind of Writing Paper, said to be the Latest Agony, and he wrote a nice Long Letter in which he told her that she was very easy to look at, and that when it came to picking them up and setting them down in the Slow and Dreamy, she made all the other Girls of his Acquaintance look like a Set of Cripples.

She returned the Serve with one of these chummy Epistles, written on all sides of the Paper, with the P.S. crawling up one Margin like a Pea-Vine.  She chucked in a few mushy Extracts from the Oatmeal School of Thought and asked him the Name of his Favorite Poet.

Her Pace was a trifle Swift for Harry J., who had derived his Education from the Sporting Section of the Daily Papers, but he bought a Lover’s Guide and a Dictionary and decided to stay in.

The size of it was that little Harry had been Harpooned all the way through.  He was the original Sweetheart a la Brochette.  He carried with him, Night and Day, a Vision of Her in the $200 Rig that she had flashed on the Night of the Party.  It never occurred to him that she could wear any other Costume.  He would close his Eyes and try to hear once again the dulcet and mellifluous Tones of that Voice which, to him, sounded as Good as an AEolian Harp moved by gentle Zephyrs within a Bower of Orchids costing $7 each.

So they exchanged Photos.

Next to the Miniature painted on Ivory, the Modern Photo is the prize
Bunk of the Universe.

A successful Photographer, who has learned the Tricks and made a slight Study of Human Nature, can take a Grass Widow of 48, who is troubled with Wild Hairs and other Excess Ornaments, and by tampering with the Negative, he can make her out to look something like Ethel Barrymore.  Then she can send the Picture to her Relations who live a long way off and they will never know the Difference.

The Girl sent Harry a High Art Panel of herself, in which she was looking at something in a Tree, and when he gazed at it, he had a Palpitation and said, “This is better than I thought it was.”

He told himself that it would be a Pleasure and a Privilege to walk up to something like that the 1st of every Month and hand it the Envelope.

He got a clean Shave and put on his Other Clothes and went and had himself Taken by an Artist who charged $8 a Dozen—­$4 for the Pictures and $4 to square his Conscience.

[Illustration:  The Artist.]

This Specialist could take any Set of Misfit Features and rearrange them into a Work of Art.  He put Harry in front of the Bull’s-Eye and scrooged him around so as to blanket the White Wings as much as possible and then he told him to think of Money and look Pleasant.