MY GLOVES? 89

taken mine when you have been late and it
happened to come first.” Having adorned
myself with my hat and necktie—of course
my gloves are nowhere to be found, and
having tumbled over all the articles in my
drawers I leave them in a state of wild con-
fusion, and look hopelessly round the room,
“Come, we can’t wait for ever for you,”
cries Freda up at my window.

At this I turn again to the drawers, for
surely they must be there, and saying to
myself, “More haste, less speed,” which is
the proverb of all others I most believe in,
I institute a careful search.

I have just found one glove, and am hope-
fully looking for the other, when there is a
gradual crescendo of voices outside, which is
suppressed, however, by Miss M., who coming
under my window says: “ We will walk on
slowly, Madge, and you can follow;” and
Jack says: “TIl wait for you, only do look
shafp;” so it is evident that he has made his
magnificent intention known to the party.
“All right!” I say, “coming;” and catching