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 have the mate to it. We saw them in 's window"—he named a fashionable haberdasher—"and I bought one myself."

Kuffman admired the tie in silence and went out. "Here," Pittsey said, opening his penknife, "you'd better cut the label off that tie. And the next time he asks you about your clothes don't turn to me as if I were your valet."

Don obeyed him, bewildered. "Why did he ask me?"

"I suppose because he wanted to know."

"But you didn't tell him."

"Oh, 'get wise, Pittsey laughed. Get wise.

There were to be other incidents of a like nature in Don's ticket-office experience, but they did not seem to increase his stock of that sort of wisdom which Pittsey wished him to acquire. It was not long, however, before the fact that Don was a Canadian became known to his theatrical associates, and his simplicity was excused by them as the natural ignorance of a foreigner who in his own country would doubtless be "wise" to the strangest of native ways. Pittsey lost his patience for a moment when he found that he must teach his assistant even the art of "making change," for Don tried to subtract the price of a ticket from a five-dollar bill, as if he were doing "mental arithmetic," instead of using his coins as counters after the manner of the experienced clerk. But he was so eager to learn, so grateful for his tuition, and so full of admiration for his teacher that Pittsey could not remain angry with him. And his evident honesty, his devotion