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 The Jane with me giggles, but the other one looks a bit embarrassed. She tries to get the conversation headed right.

"Don't you think, Mister Love, that Raphæl was a far more vivid colorist than Rubens?" she says.

"Eh—well, 'at's what you call a matter of taste," says Ptomaine gamely. He don't know whether them guys was painters or plumbers! "Personally, I prefer Bud Fisher, or the guy which draws Barney Google."

This time his pretty opponent seems a bit steamed. She prob'ly thought she was bein' gave a run around, but Ptomaine was really doin' his best.

"Just what do you paint, Mister Love?" she asks.

"Me?" says Ptomaine, grinnin' like a hyena. "Oh, practically anything! Barns! signs, flagpoles, houses, automobiles, boats, trolley cars, chiffoniers—well, to be frankly with you, kid, they's no holdin' me once I get my hands on a paint pot and brush!"

At that minute a couple of these milk-fed college boys comes over and accuses the girls of havin' dancin' appointments with 'em. The young women couldn't get up quick enough.

Leavin' the cotillon-leadin' Ptomaine to search for fresh victims, I raced around hithers and yon, fin'ly windin' up in the midst of the football players. The very first morsel of conversation I caught glued me to the spot. What they're all enthusiastically talkin' about is the fact that Kid Roberts is daily expected to arrive at Hermit Inn!

At first I was afraid we'd all been recognized, but I