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Markham came to Vance's apartment at promptly nine o'clock the next morning. He was in bad humor.

"Now, see here, Vance," he said, as soon as he was seated at the table; "I want to know what was the meaning of your parting words last night."

"Eat your melon, old dear," said Vance. "It comes from northern Brazil, and is very delicious. But don't devitalize its flavor with pepper or salt. An amazin' practice, that,—though not as amazin' as stuffing a melon with ice-cream. The American does the most dumbfoundin' things with ice-cream. He puts it on pie; he puts it in soda-water; he encases it in hard chocolate like a bon-bon; he puts it between sweet biscuits and calls the result an ice-cream sandwich; he even uses it instead of whipped cream in a Charlotte Russe. . . ."

"What I want to know" began Markham; but Vance did not permit him to finish.

"It's surprisin', y' know, the erroneous ideas people have about melons. There are only two species—the muskmelon and the watermelon. All breakfast melons—like cantaloups, citrons, nut-