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on to the porch with his guitar. Miles looked desperately from his host to the instrument. Then,—
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"Hunter," he announced, sombrely,
"if you play that damned thing I'll—I'll
strangle you!"
The next morning at breakfast Hunter looked across from the letter he was reading and asked,—
"By the way, what train are you thinking of taking?"
"None," answered Miles, cheerfully.
"Oh! I understood you to say yesterday"
"Of course you did, but don't let it bother you. I don't. I've changed my mind."
"Oh, you've changed your mind?"
"Exactly; one can do that, I suppose?"
"Some folks can—quite often,"
