I pray you let the drama halt while Chorus stalks to thefootlights and drops an epicedian tear upon the fatness ofMr. Hoover. Tune the pipes to the tragedy of tallow， thebane of bulk， the calamity of corpulence. Tried out， Falstaffmight have rendered more romance to the ton than wouldhave Romeo’s rickety ribs to the ounce. A lover may sigh，but he must not puff. To the train of Momus are the fatmen remanded. In vain beats the faithfullest heart abovea 52-inch belt. Avaunt， Hoover！ Hoover， forty-five， flushand foolish， might carry off Helen herself； Hoover， fortyfive，flush， foolish and fat is meat for perdition. There wasnever a chance for you， Hoover.
As Mrs. Parker’s roomers sat thus one summer’s evening，Miss Leeson looked up into the firmament and cried withher little gay laugh：
“Why， there’s Billy Jackson！ I can see him from downhere， too.”
All looked up—some at the windows of skyscrapers，some casting about for an airship， Jackson-guided.
“It’s that star，” explained Miss Leeson， pointing witha tiny finger. “Not the big one that twinkles—the steadyblue one near it. I can see it every night through myskylight. I named it Billy Jackson.”
“Well， really！” said Miss Longnecker. “I didn’t know youwere an astronomer， Miss Leeson.”
“Oh， yes，” said the small star gazer， “I know as muchas any of them about the style of sleeves they’re going towear next fall in Mars.”
“Well， really！” said Miss Longnecker. “The star you referto is Gamma， of the constellation Cassiopeia. It is nearlyof the second magnitude， and its meridian passage is—”
“Oh，” said the very young Mr. Evans， “I think BillyJackson is a much better name for it.”
“Same here，” said Mr. Hoover， loudly breathing defianceto Miss Longnecker. “I think Miss Leeson has just as muchright to name stars as any of those old astrologers had.”
“Well， really！” said Miss Longnecker.
“I wonder whether it’s a shooting star，” remarked MissDorn. “I hit nine ducks and a rabbit out of ten in thegallery at Coney Sunday.”
“He doesn’t show up very well from down here，” saidMiss Leeson. “You ought to see him from my room. Youknow you can see stars even in the daytime from thebottom of a well. At night my room is like the shaft ofa coal mine， and it makes Billy Jackson look like the bigdiamond pin that Night fastens her kimono with.”
There came a time after that when Miss Leeson broughtno formidable papers home to copy. And when she wentout in the morning， instead of working， she went fromoffice to office and let her heart melt away in the drip ofcold refusals transmitted through insolent office boys.
This went on.
There came an evening when she wearily climbed Mrs.
Parker’s stoop at the hour when she always returned fromher dinner at the restaurant. But she had had no dinner.
As she stepped into the hall Mr. Hoover met her andseized his chance. He asked her to marry him， and hisfatness hovered above her like an avalanche. She dodged，and caught the balustrade. He tried for her hand， and sheraised it and smote him weakly in the face. Step by stepshe went up， dragging herself by the railing. She passedMr. Skidder’s door as he was red-inking a stage directionfor Myrtle Delorme （Miss Leeson） in his （unaccepted）comedy， to “pirouette across stage from L to the side ofthe Count.” Up the carpeted ladder she crawled at last andopened the door of the skylight room.
