"Never!—or, at least, not for some time. The beard would be gone, to be sure; but there'd be all the rest to tattle—eyes, voice, size, manner, walk—everything; and smoked glasses couldn't cover all that, you know. Besides, glasses would be taboo, anyway. They'd only result in making me look more like John Smith than ever. John Smith, you remember, wore smoked glasses for some time to hide Mr. Stanley G. Fulton from the ubiquitous reporter. No, Mr. Stanley G. Fulton can't come to Hillerton. So, as Mahomet can't go to the mountain, the mountain must come to Mahomet."

"Meaning—?" Miss Maggie's eyes were growing dangerously mutinous.

"That you will have to come to Chicago—yes."

"And court you? No, sir—thank you!"

Mr. Smith chuckled softly.

"I love you with your head tilted that way." (Miss Maggie promptly tilted it the other.) "Or that, either, for that matter," continued Mr. Smith genially. "However, speaking of courting—Mr. Fulton will do that, all right, and endeavor to leave nothing lacking, either as to quantity or quality. Think, now. Don't you know any one in Chicago? Haven't you got some friend that you can visit?"

"No!" Miss Maggie's answer was prompt and emphatic—too prompt and too emphatic for unquestioning acceptance.

"Oh, yes, you have," asserted the man cheerfully. "I don't know her name—but she's there. She's Waving a red flag from your face this minute! Now, listen. Well, turn your head away, if you like—if you can listen better that way," he went on tranquilly paying no attention to her little gasp. "Well, all you have to do is to write the lady you're coming, and go. Never mind who she is—Mr. Stanley G. Fulton will find a way to meet her. Trust him for that! Then he'll call and meet you—and be so pleased to see you! The rest will be easy. There'll be a regular whirlwind courtship then—calls, dinners, theaters, candy, books, flowers! Then Mr. Stanley G. Fulton will propose marriage. You'll be immensely surprised, of course, but you'll accept. Then we'll get married," he finished with a deep sigh of satisfaction.

"MR. SMITH!" ejaculated Miss Maggie faintly.

"Say, CAN'T you call me anything—" he began wrathfully, but interrupted himself. "However, it's better that you don't, after all. Because I've got to be 'Mr. Smith' as long as I stay here. But you wait till you meet Mr. Stanley G. Fulton in Chicago! Now, what's her name, and where does she live?"

Miss Maggie laughed in spite of herself, as she said severely: "Her name, indeed! I'm afraid Mr. Stanley G. Fulton is so in the habit of having his own way that he forgets he is still Mr. John Smith. However, there IS an old schoolmate," she acknowledged demurely.

"Of course there is! Now, write her at once, and tell her you're coming."

"But she—she may not be there."