There was an almost imperceptible hesitation; then, a little shortly, came the answer:

"Hit the trail for Grand Opera, and bring up, probably--in vaudeville."

Calderwell smiled appreciatively.

"You _can_ sing like the devil," he admitted.

"Thanks," returned his friend, with uplifted eyebrows. "Do you mind calling it 'an angel'--just for this occasion?"

"Oh, the matinee-girls will do that fast enough. But, I say, Arkwright, what are you going to do with those initials then?"

"Let 'em alone."

"Oh, no, you won't. And you won't be 'Mary Jane,' either. Imagine a Mary Jane in Grand Opera! I know what you'll be. You'll be 'Senor Martini Johnini Arkwrightino'! By the way, you didn't say what that 'M. J.'

really did stand for," hinted Calderwell, shamelessly.

"'Merely Jokes'--in your estimation, evidently," shrugged the other.

"But my going isn't a joke, Calderwell. I'm really going. And I'm going to work."

"But--how shall you manage?"

"Time will tell."

Calderwell frowned and stirred restlessly in his chair.

"But, honestly, now, to--to follow that trail of yours will take money. And--er--" a faint red stole to his forehead--"don't they have--er--patrons for these young and budding geniuses? Why can't I have a hand in this trail, too--or maybe you'd call it a foot, eh? I'd be no end glad to, Arkwright."

"Thanks, old man." The red was duplicated this time above the brown silky beard. "That was mighty kind of you, and I appreciate it; but it won't be necessary. A generous, but perhaps misguided bachelor uncle left me a few thousands a year or so ago; and I'm going to put them all down my throat--or rather, _into_ it--before I give up."

"Where you going to study? New York?"

Again there was an almost imperceptible hesitation before the answer came.

"I'm not quite prepared to say."

"Why not try it here?"

Arkwright shook his head.

"I did plan to, when I came over but I've changed my mind. I believe I'd rather work while longer in America."

"Hm-m," murmured Calderwell.

There was a brief silence, followed by other questions and other answers; after which the friends said good night.

In his own room, as he was dropping off to sleep, Calderwell muttered drowsily:

"By George! I haven't found out yet what that blamed 'M. J.' stands for!"

CHAPTER II. AUNT HANNAH GETS A LETTER

In the cozy living-room at Hillside, Billy Neilson's pretty home on Corey Hill, Billy herself sat writing at the desk. Her pen had just traced the date, "October twenty-fifth," when Mrs. Stetson entered with a letter in her hand.

"Writing, my dear? Then don't let me disturb you." She turned as if to go.

Billy dropped her pen, sprang to her feet, flew to the little woman's side and whirled her half across the room.

"There!" she exclaimed, as she plumped the breathless and scandalized Aunt Hannah into the biggest easy chair. "I feel better. I just had to let off steam some way. It's so lovely you came in just when you did!"

"Indeed! I--I'm not so sure of that," stammered the lady, dropping the letter into her lap, and patting with agitated fingers her cap, her curls, the two shawls about her shoulders, and the lace at her throat.

"My grief and conscience, Billy! Wors't you _ever_ grow up?"

"Hope not," purred Billy cheerfully, dropping herself on to a low ha.s.sock at Aunt Hannah's feet.

"But, my dear, you--you're engaged!"

Billy bubbled into a chuckling laugh.

"As if I didn't know that, when I've just written a dozen notes to announce it! And, oh, Aunt Hannah, such a time as I've had, telling what a dear Bertram is, and how I love, love, _love_ him, and what beautiful eyes he has, and _such_ a nose, and--"

"Billy!" Aunt Hannah was sitting erect in pale horror.

"Eh?" Billy's eyes were roguish.

"You didn't write that in those notes!"

"Write it? Oh, no! That's only what I _wanted_ to write," chuckled Billy. "What I really did write was as staid and proper as--here, let me show you," she broke off, springing to her feet and running over to her desk. "There! this is about what I wrote to them all," she finished, whipping a note out of one of the unsealed envelopes on the desk and spreading it open before Aunt Hannah's suspicious eyes.

"Hm-m; that is very good--for you," admitted the lady.

"Well, I like that!--after all my stern self-control and self-sacrifice to keep out all those things I _wanted_ to write," bridled Billy.

"Besides, they'd have been ever so much more interesting reading than these will be," she pouted, as she took the note from her companion's hand.

"I don't doubt it," observed Aunt Hannah, dryly.

Billy laughed, and tossed the note back on the desk.

"I'm writing to Belle Calderwell, now," she announced musingly, dropping herself again on the ha.s.sock. "I suppose she'll tell Hugh."

"Poor boy! He'll be disappointed."

Billy sighed, but she uptilted her chin a little.

"He ought not to be. I told him long, long ago, the very first time, that--that I couldn't."