Mr. Middleton looked upon the photograph of a man who seemed to be possessed of some of the best qualities of manhood. It was true that there was a slight suspicion of weakness in the face, but above all it was kindly and sympathetic.
“A good looking man,” said Mr. Middleton.
“Smart man, too,” said the matrimonial agent. “He graduated from the university in Evanston and was a lawyer and a good one, until a friend fired off one of those big duck guns in his ear for a joke.”
Taking the odalisque with him in a cab, Mr. Middleton was off for the residence of Mr. Crayburn.
“Will she have me?” asked Mr. Crayburn, when he had read Mr. Middleton’s hastily penciled account of the main facts of his connection with the fair Moslem, wherein for brevity’s sake he had omitted any mention of the fifteen hundred dollars the emir had given him for assuming charge of her.
“Of course,” wrote Mr. Middleton.
“I never saw a more beautiful woman,” exclaimed Mr. Crayburn. “By the way, have you noticed any predilections, habits, wants, it would be well for me to know about?”
“She smokes,” wrote Mr. Middleton, not knowing why he wrote it, and wishing like the devil that he hadn’t the moment he had.
“All Oriental women smoke. I will ask her not to as soon as she learns English.”
Mr. Middleton was amazed to think that such a simple solution had not occurred to him. But he was glad it was so, for he had not been unscathed by Cupid’s darts there last night and he might not now be about to visit the young lady of Englewood.