wistfully, Choosing a career is like choosing a wife from

Formerly this sort of thing had kept us at daggers drawn, but now he only laughed, and shaking his hand impatiently to and fro, said: "Stop it! ah, stop it! So you could not find even one leading man worth while, eh?"

"Then why on earth didn't you write me?"

"Couldn't--I only found him on our last night in London."

Mr. Daly's face was alight in a moment. He caught up a scrap of paper and a pencil, and, after the manner of the inexperienced interviewer, began: "What's he like?"

"Tall, flat-backed, square-shouldered, free-moving, and wears a long dress-coat--that shibboleth of a gentleman--as if that had been his custom since ever he left his mother's knee."

Mr. Daly ejaculated "good!" at each clause, and scribbled his impish small scribble on the bit of paper which rested on his palm.

"What did he do?" he asked eagerly.

"He didn't do," I answered lucidly.