The Man Upstairs
Something to Worry About
When Doctors Disagree
By Advice of Counsel
Rough-Hew Them How We Will
The Man Who Disliked Cats
Ruth in Exile
The Man, the Maid and the Miasma
The Good Angel
Pots O' Money
Out of School
Three From Dunsterville
The Tuppenny Millionaire
Ahead of Schedule
The Goal-Keeper and the Plutocrat
resently she looked up and smiled, a moist and pathetic smile.
'I'm sorry,' she said, 'for being so stupid. But he was so horrid and patronizing to you, I couldn't help scratching. I believe I'm the worst cat in London.'
'No, this is,' said Beverley, pointing to the canvas. 'At least, according to the late Sellers. But, I say, tell me, isn't the deceased a great artist, then? He came curveting in here with his chest out and started to slate my masterpiece, so I naturally said, "What-ho! 'Tis a genius!" Isn't he?'
'He can't sell his pictures anywhere. He lives on the little he can get from illustrating advertisements. And I t-taunt--'
'Please!' said Beverley, apprehensively.
She recovered herself with a gulp.
'I can't help it,' she said, miserably. 'I rubbed it in. Oh, it was hateful of me! But I was all on edge from teaching one of my awful pupils, and when he started to patronize you--'
'Poor devil!' said Beverley. 'I never guessed