"Humphrey, what age do we feel?"
"Thirty. Not a month more," replied the Artist, striking out with both fists at an imaginary foe—probably old Time.
"Right. Not an hour above the thirty," said the Bard, smiting his chest gently. "As for Joseph, he is too old——"
"Very much too old——"
"To think of marrying such a young——"
"Fresh and innocent——"
"Engaging and clever girl as Miss Phillis Fleming."
Did they, then, both intend to marry the young lady?
CHAPTER IV.
"To taste the freshness of the morning air."