"That's a tale of 'is gloomy past, that is," said the Optimist to the Philosopher with a wink. "It'll be better kep' in its cawfin."
"So'll that yarn of lil Frangipani, if I ain't much mistook," snapped the Pessimist.
A slow grin stole over the imperturbable countenance of the Philosopher, but he did not speak.
"Funny goods, wimmin!" mused the story-teller, letting the remark pass. "There's two sorts, when all's said and done—the sort a man keeps in 'is 'ome, and the sort a man keeps in 'is 'eart."
"Lil Frangipani being the 'earty kind," suggested the Philosopher.
The Optimist searched his inner garments again.
"I got 'er 'ere," he said, and half-shamefacedly produced an envelope containing a few crumpled snapshots taken with a large-sized Kodak. He handed it to the Philosopher in silence and the Pessimist peered over his shoulder.
"Why, I know 'er!" he exclaimed in triumph.
The Optimist greeted the information with scorn.
"You!" he said. "Why, she never ain't 'ad nothin' to do with a gentleman wot Gawd 'adn't blessed with blue eyes and a pleasant countenance."