face fall. "We want the privilege of publishing the novel under a title of our own, and anonymously. If that is not satisfactory the deal is off."

   She brightened in a moment.

   "It's a go, if that's all," she said. "Call it whatever you please, and the more anonymous it is the better it will suit yours truly."

   So we settled the matter then and there, and when I gave her our check for a thousand she said I was all right.

   Half an hour after Miss Vincent had left the office Perkins came in with his arms full of bundles, which he opened, spreading their contents on my desk.

   He had a pair of suspenders with nickel-silver mountings, a tie, a lady's belt, a pair of low shoes, a shirt, a box of cigars, a package of cookies, and a half-dozen other things of divers and miscellaneous character. I poked them over and examined them, while he leaned against the desk with his legs crossed. He was beaming upon me.

   "Well," I said, "what is it—a bargain sale?"

   Perkins leaned over and tapped the pile with his long fore-finger.

   "Aftermath!" he crowed, "aftermath!"

   "The dickens it is," I exclaimed, "and what has aftermath got to do with this truck? It looks like the aftermath of a notion store."

   He tipped his "Air-the-Hair" hat over one ear and put his thumbs in the armholes of his "ready-tailored" vest.

   "Genius!" he announced. "Brains! Foresight! Else why Perkins the Great? Why not Perkins the Nobody?"

   He raised the suspenders tenderly from the pile and fondled them in his hands.

   "See this?" he asked, running his finger along the red corded edge of the elastic. He took up the tie and ran his nail along the red stripe that formed the selvedge on the

   back, and said: "See this?" He pointed to the red laces of the low shoes and asked, "See this?" And so through the whole collection.

   "What is it?" he asked. "It's genius! It's foresight."

   He waved his hand over the pile.

   "The aftermath!" he exclaimed.

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