sentences of yours, you will never get out in time to eat your breakfast,” was the fear of Mrs. Korner.     

       “I should be sorry for anything to happen to it,” remarked Mr. Korner,       “its intrinsic value may perhaps—”      

       “I will look for it after breakfast,” volunteered the amiable Miss Greene.       “I am good at finding things.”      

       “I can well believe it,” the gallant Mr. Korner assured her, as with the handle of his spoon he peeled his egg. “From such bright eyes as yours, few—”      

       “You've only got ten minutes,” his wife reminded him. “Do get on with your breakfast.”      

       “I should like,” said Mr. Korner, “to finish a speech occasionally.”      

       “You never would,” asserted Mrs. Korner.     

       “I should like to try,” sighed Mr. Korner, “one of these days—”      

       “How did you sleep, dear? I forgot to ask you,” questioned Mrs. Korner of the bosom friend.     

       “I am always restless in a strange bed the first night,” explained Miss Greene. “I daresay, too, I was a little excited.”      

       “I could have wished,” said Mr. Korner, “it had been a better example of the delightful art of the dramatist. When one goes but seldom to the theatre—”      

       “One wants to enjoy oneself” interrupted Mrs. Korner.     

       “I really do not think,” said the bosom friend, “that I have ever laughed so much in all my life.”      

       “It was amusing. I laughed myself,” admitted Mr. Korner. “At the same time I cannot help thinking that to treat drunkenness as a theme—”      

       “He wasn't drunk,” argued Mrs. Korner, “he was just jovial.”      

       “My dear!” Mr. Korner corrected her, “he simply couldn't stand.”      

       “He was much more amusing than some people who can,” retorted Mrs. Korner.     

       “It is possible, my dear Aimee,” her husband pointed out to her, “for a man to be amusing without being 

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