jingled and an unmistakable odor of broiled chicken!
"Oh!" she said quickly; and then, "Oh! I thought you were Jenkins."
"Timeo Danaos—what's the rest of it?" I asked, tendering my offering. "You didn't have any dinner, you know." I sat down beside her. "See, I'll be the table. What was the old fairy tale? 'Little goat bleat: little table appear!' I'm perfectly willing to be the goat, too."
She was laughing rather tremulously.
"We never do meet like other people, do we?" she asked. "We really ought to shake hands and say how are you."
"I don't want to meet you like other people, and I suppose you always think of me as wearing the other fellow's clothes," I returned meekly. "I'm doing it again: I don't seem to be able to help it. These are Granger's that I have on now."
She threw back her head and laughed again, joyously, this time.
"Oh, it's so ridiculous," she said, "and you
