NOTEBOOK

A small world, and a peculiar one. Perhaps
there was nothing suspicious in the facts of Mr.
Wood's slight acquaintance in Vienna and Major
X's presence at the dinner—perhaps Mr. Wood
really did contemplate taking over the option,
but there is something in it all that suggests an
"arrangement"—the kind of arrangement that
suggests Paige.

I wrote all about the Option to Mr. H. H. Rogers (re-
serving i/io of the eventual stock for myself) Sunday
morning and mailed the letter, to catch the Wednesday
steamer. I asked Mr. Rogers to come over and if he was
not sufficiently impressed he could cable me the word
"London." I would then try to sell the Option there.
I should expect to succeed.

Apparently Mr. Rogers was not impressed—
even after careful investigation. He did not put
any money into the carpet-designing patent or
permit Mark Twain to do so. The pages of the
notebook glow with matter concerning the in-
vention, inventors, and the like, for a time, and
then these things are heard of no more. If there
was a fortune to be made from the designer it
escaped him, but more likely he escaped losing
one.

"The Princess Hohenlohe wishes you to write on her
fan."

'With pleasure—where is she?"

"At your elbow."

I turned and took the fan and said:

"Your Highness's place is in a fairy tale; and by and
by I mean to write that tale."

Whereat, she laughed, a happy girlish laugh, and we
moved through the crowd to a writing table and to get a

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