meant.

Mr. H. (confused). Ah, ah; I don't know; I did n't forget. I don't know what I But as I was saying-a lot of us were standing together, saying what a bore the party was, for the company was a little mixed. After all, I really wonder that you were not at it, Miss Rogers, - when Lawrence Goldlot came up to us - Lawrence had just come back from home from England.

Miss R. Is n't Mr. Goldlot an American ? I thought that his grandfather and yours came from the same town in Vermont, where they kept store together? Mr. H. Ah, ah, yes, you know; we all speak of England as home, you know. But, as I was saying, as he was just back, we wished to learn the latest wrinkles in dress. A fortnight before one of the fellows had discovered from the cartoons of Du Maurier in Punch that the men in London were wearing a single shirt-stud in

the evening, and of course all of us were wearing single shirt-studs. Imagine our surprise when we saw that Lawrence wore three shirt-studs, and our annoyance when he told us with an insolent smile, that they have not worn single shirt-studs in London since last summer. Of course, we black-balled him soon after when his name came up at the club. There are some things which one cannot say, even to intimates. Miss R. You served him quite right, I am

sure.

Mr. H. And the worst of it was, that it was only a beastly sell after all; as we discovered, when we had all bought new sets of shirts, and saw Sir Randolph Racket at the Van Twellers' with a single stud.

Miss R. It certainly was as cruel as it was ill-bred. What club did they black-ball Mr. Goldlot's name at?

Mr. H. At the club. There is only one club in New York, where they black-ball.

Miss R.

The Knickerbein, I suppose? Mr. H. Yes.

Miss R. How did you like Sir Randolph Racket, Mr. Hunt?

Mr. H. Oh, he was an uncommonly good fellow.

Miss R. Was n't it a little remarkable for an English lord to take the trouble to dress for a ball, when in such a barbarous country as America? I wonder that he did n't wear

a shooting-jacket!

Mr. H. Oh, Englishmen are getting to be quite tolerant of this country, really. And they feel quite at home in New York society, which is very English, you know. I am taken for an Englishman all the time.

Miss R. It must annoy you very much to be taken to be an Englishman.

Mr. H. Oh, no, it does not, I assure you. Miss R. But I suppose that it would annoy an Englishman to be taken for an American, would n't it?

Mr. H. Of course it would. Fancy! Miss R. And yet I look forward to a day, when all English gentlemen will wear dusters and G. A. R. hats, drive in light buggies with long-tailed horses, and talk through their nose, and say, "I swan to man," according to the true British idea of a typical American. But is not the Knickerbein the club which the newspapers call the "Dudes' Resort"?

Mr. H. I have seen something in the prints about dudes. Those vulgar newspaper men have to be funny about something, and they could find nothing better to do than to poke fun at gentlemen.

Miss R. But is "dude" another word for "gentleman" as "Arry" is for a cad?

Mr. H. I have never troubled myself to know what they mean by the word "dude." It seems to have been widely used by the street arabs, who, of late, have ceased requesting me to shoot my hat, and cry out instead, "Shoot the dude."

Miss R. (aside). The murderous-minded wretches! Would they drive the poor man to suicide?

Mr. H. You say, Miss Rogers, that you have heard our club called the "Dudes' Resort"?

Miss R. Yes, there are rumors current that the members have to wear weights on their feet to keep them down on the floor, as they are so "light," and that the club servants, when they wish to speak to a gentleman, always look respectfully at the ceiling for him, against which he is sure to be bobbing, like an escaped little red balloon.

Mr. H. You must not believe all that, you know. The beggars were poking fun at us, that is all. I hate fellows who are always poking fun and laughing. No gentleman likes notoriety; of course one likes to dress properly and quietly, but one does not like to be noticed or to be held up to ridicule.