The Old Mint III. It was a motor accident—a fatal motor accident the evening papers called it. Her aunt, a faded, anæmic-looking lady of somewhat too obtrusive gentility, was still sitting with her hand pressed to her heart. “I wish,” she said, “that you would leave off looking at me as though I were something grisly. She was correct, and when I went directly to the street she had named, there you were, walking into the Butcher Shop. " Figg turned aside to hide the tears that started to his eyes,—for the stout prizefighter, with a man's courage, had a woman's heart,—and the procession again set forward. You act your part capitally, but it won't do. I will do anything and everything I can to become your equal.
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