"I have thought of that," said I. "I shall make a distinction in his favour. I shall give him an order for two coats. Surely that means more to him than a mere settlement."
"Yes," said Edith doubtfully. "But of course you'll pay him the money?"
I laughed amazedly. "My dear girl! Either I pay his account just like the other two, or I distinguish him by ordering the new coats. He can't have it both ways. And I couldn't very well pay for the new coats, if that's what you mean, before the old account is settled. You see that?"
"Yes, but still it doesn't seem——"
"Ah, perhaps not," I said, "perhaps not, at first sight. I hardly saw it myself at first. It was really a clever idea of yours."
Edith brightened visibly. "Yes, wasn't it?" she said.
AN EPIC FROM THE PROVINCES.
My dear Charles,—I know that from your superior standpoint as a Londoner you are disposed to regard us as dwellers in a quiet backwater, unswayed by the currents of political strife, but you must not imagine that the stirring events of the past few weeks have failed to leave their mark on the life of our little town. A study of the Press—that faithful mirror of our time—would quickly convince you to the contrary.
The Press, as you know, is here represented by The Signal, a fine old weekly journal of inflexible Unionist views. Well, last week, rising on a wave of enthusiasm, The Signal burst into poetry.