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mumble…peg； you agree with him； only
you substitute ‘‘skittles'' for ‘‘mumble…
peg。''
Old Sanders' fad was mixing toddies
and punches。
‘‘The nectar of the gods pales into
nothingness when compared with a toddy
such as I make；'' said he。 ‘‘Ambrosia
may have been all right for the
degenerates of the old Grecian and
Roman days； but an American gentleman
demands a toddya hot toddy。'' And
then he proceeded with circumspection
and dignity to demonstrate the process
of decocting that mysterious beverage。
The two men took off their overcoats
and went into the sitting…room。 A pile
of logs burned brightly in the fire…place。
The old man threw another on the burning
heap； filled the kettle with water and
hung it over the fire。 Next he went to
the sideboard and brought forth the
various ingredients for the toddy。
‘‘How do you like America？'' said
the elder； with commonplace indifference；
as he crunched a lump of sugar in
the bottom of the glass； dissolving the
particles with a few drops of water。
‘‘Very much； indeed；'' said the
Tuscan； with the air of a man who had
answered the question before。
‘‘Great country for girls！'' said
Sanders； pouring a liberal quantity of Old
Tom gin in the glass and placing it
where it gradually would get warm。
‘‘And for men！'' responded Diotti；
enthusiastically。
‘‘Men don't amount to much here；
women run everything；'' retorted the
elder； while he repeated the process of
preparing the sugar and gin in the second
glass。 The kettle began to sing。
‘‘That's music for you；'' chuckled the
old man； raising the lid to see if the
water had boiled sufficiently。 ‘‘Do you
know I think a dinner horn and a singing
kettle beat a symphony all hollow
for real down…right melody；'' and he
lifted the kettle from the fire…place。
Diotti smiled。
With mathematical accuracy the old man
filled the two tumblers with boiling water。
‘‘Try that；'' handing a glass of the
toddy to Diotti； ‘‘you will find it all
right；'' and the old man drew an arm…
chair toward the fire…place； smacking his
lips in anticipation。
The violinist placed his chair closer to
the fire and sipped the drink。
‘‘Your country is noted for its beautiful women？''
‘‘We have exquisite types of femininity
in Tuscany；'' said the young man；
with patriotic ardor。
‘‘Any as fine looking asasaswell；
say the young lady we dined with to…night？''
‘‘Miss Wallace？'' queried the Tuscan。
‘‘Yes； Miss Wallace；'' this rather impatiently。
‘‘She is very beautiful；'' said Diotti；
with solemn admiration。
‘‘Have you ever seen any one prettier？''
questioned the old man； after a
second prolonged sip。
‘‘I have no desire to see any one
more beautiful；'' said the violinist； feeling
that the other was trying to draw
him out； and determined not to yield。
‘‘You will pardon the inquisitiveness
of an old man； but are not you musicians
a most impressionable lot？''
‘‘We are human；'' answered the violinist。
‘‘I imagined you were like sailors and
had a sweetheart in every port。''
‘‘That would be a delightful prospect
to one having polygamous aspirations；
but for myself； one sweetheart is enough；''
laughingly said the musician。
‘‘Only one！ Well； here's to her！
With this nectar fit for the gods and
goddesses of Olympus； let us drink to her；''
said old Sanders； with convivial dignity；
his glass raised on high。 ‘‘Here's wishing
health and happiness to the dreamy…
eyed Tuscan beauty； whom you love and
who loves you。''
‘‘Stop！'' said Diotti； ‘‘we will drink
to the first part of that toast；'' and holding
his glass against that of his bibulous
host； continued： ‘‘To the dreamy…eyed
women of my country； exacting of
their lovers； obedient to their parents
and loyal to their husbands；'' and his
voice rose in sonorous rhythm with the
words。
‘‘Now for the rest of the toast； to the
one you love and who loves you；'' came
from Sanders。
‘‘To the one I love and who loves me；
God bless her！'' fervently cried the guest。
‘‘Is she a Tuscan？'' asked old Sanders slyly。
‘‘She is an angel！'' impetuously answered
the violinist。
‘‘Then she is an American！'' said the
old man gallantly。
‘‘She is an American；'' repeated
Diotti； forgetting himself for the instant。
‘‘Let me see if I can guess her
name；'' said old Sanders。 ‘‘It'sit's
Mildred Wallace！'' and his manner
suggested a child solving a riddle。
The violinist； about to speak； checked
himself and remained silent。
‘‘I sincerely pity Mildred if ever she
falls in love；'' abstractedly continued
the host while filling another glass。
‘‘Pray why？'' was anxiously asked。
The old man shifted his position and
assumed a confidential tone and attitude：
‘‘Signor Diotti； jealousy is a more
universal passion than love itself。
Environment may develop our character；
influence our tastes and even soften our
features； but heredity determines the
intensity of the two leading passions； love
and jealousy。 Mildred's mother was a
beautiful woman； but consumed with an
overpowering jealousy of her husband。
It was because she loved him。 The
body…guard of jealousyenvy； malice
and hatredwere not in her composition。
When Mildred was a child of
twelve I have seen her mother suffer
the keenest anguish because Mr。 Wallace
fondled the child。 She thought the
child had robbed her of her husband's
love。''
‘‘Such a woman as Miss Wallace
would command the entire love and
admiration of her husband at all times；''
said the artist。
‘‘If she should marry a man she
simply likes； her chances for happiness
would be normal。''
‘‘In what manner？'' asked the lover。
‘‘Because she would be little
concerned about him or his actions。''
‘‘Then you believe；'' said the
musician； ‘‘that the man who loves her and
whom she loves should give her up
because her chances of happiness would be
greater away from him than with him？''
‘‘That would be an unselfish love；''
said the elder。
‘‘Suppose they have declared their
passion？'' asked Diotti。
‘‘A parting before doubt and jealousy
had entered her mind would let the image
of her sacrificing lover live within
her soul as a tender and lasting memory；
he always would be her ideal；'' and the
accent old Sanders placed on ALWAYS left
no doubt of his belief。
‘‘Why should doubt and jealousy enter
her life？'' said the violinist； falling
into the personal character of the discussion
despite himself。
‘‘My dear sir； from what I observed
to…night； she loves you。 You are a dan…
gerous man for a jealous woman to love。
You are not a cloistered monk； you are
a man before the public； you win the
admiration of many； some women do not
hesitate to show you their preference。 To
a woman like Mildred that