CHAPTER XXI.
"MY LITTLE RHINOCEROS-BIRD." It was not all sweet nonsense, though, with this man and woman.

Some practical things of life became theirs soon, because of the love which was theirs.
A curious thing, and to me a pleasant thing, occurred one night.

I was with Grant Harlson in his room, and he was lying on a sofa smoking, while I lounged in an easy-chair.

Harlson was pretty well fagged out, for it was the end of a hard day for him, as, for that matter, it had been for me.

There was a ward to be carried against a ring, and Harlson was in the midst of the fray for half a hundred reasons, and I was aiding him.