Plit is only as strong as its weakest link. The best-laid schemesof mice and men gang agley if one of the mice is a mentaldefective or if one of the men is a Jerry Mitchell. . . .

　　Celestine, Mrs. Pett's maid--she who was really Maggie O'Tooleand whom Jerry loved with a strength which deprived him of eventhat small amount of intelligence which had been bestowed uponhim by Nature--came into the house-keeper's room at about teno'clock that night. The domestic staff had gone in a body to themoving-pictures, and the only occupant of the room was the newparlourmaid, who was sitting in a hard chair, readingSchopenhauer.

　　Celestine's face was flushed, her dark hair was ruffled, and hereyes were shining. She breathed a little quickly, and her lefthand was out of sight behind her back. She eyed the newparlour-maid doubtfully for a moment. The latter was a woman ofsomewhat unencouraging exterior, not the kind that invitesconfidences. But Celestine had confidences to bestow, and theexodus to the movies had left her in a position where she couldnot pick and choose. She was faced with the alternative oflocking her secret in her palpitating bosom or of revealing it tothis one auditor. The choice was one which no impulsive damsel inlike circumstances would have hesitated to make.

　　"Say!" said Celestine.

　　A face rose reluctantly from behind Schopenhauer. A gleaming eyemet Celestine's. A second eye no less gleaming glared at theceiling.

　　"Say, I just been talking to my feller outside," said Celestinewith a coy simper. "Say, he's a grand man!"A snort of uncompromising disapproval proceeded from thethin-lipped mouth beneath the eyes. But Celestine was too full ofher news to be discouraged.

　　"I'm strong fer Jer!" she said.

　　"Huh?" said the student of Schopenhauer.

　　"Jerry Mitchell, you know. You ain't never met him, have you?

　　Say, he's a grand man!"For the first time she had the other's undivided attention. Thenew parlour-maid placed her book upon the table.

　　"Uh?" she said.

　　Celestine could hold back her dramatic surprise no longer. Herconcealed left hand flashed into view. On the third fingerglittered a ring. She gazed at it with awed affection.

　　"Ain't it a beaut!"She contemplated its sparkling perfection for a moment inrapturous silence.

　　"Say, you could have knocked me down with a feather!" sheresumed. "He telephones me awhile ago and says to be outside theback door at ten to-night, because he'd something he wanted totell me. Of course he couldn't come in and tell it me here,because he'd been fired and everything. So I goes out, and therehe is. 'Hello, kid!' he says to me. 'Fresh!' I says to him.

　　'Say, I got something to be fresh about!' he says to me. And thenhe reaches into his jeans and hauls out the sparkler. 'What'sthat?' I says to him. 'It's an engagement ring,' he says to me.