There are innumerable Saints in the annals of the church who have stopped and bowed when some passerby has murmured the bromidic "Nice day, Valentine." Exactly which of these men of God gave their name to the day which the world is about to celebrate is one of those questions which only a candidate for his doctorate is allowed to probe. It is a neat problem. The Vagabond has evolved a little theory all his own which he offers as a neat solution to that riddle of the ages, "Which Valentine and Why Valentine?"

There was once a most shy bank clerk whom his associates called "Bunnie." He was a most efficient bank clerk with heavy spectacles, long, grey trousers, large nose, watery eyes, and a limp. All day long he sat at a high stool in Thread needle Street whisking a great quill pen over the interminable pages of a vast ledger. For years he had done this and he had done it well. And then a change came over Bunnie; he became less conscientious, more preoccupied and took to biting off the feathers on his quill. Love has touched him. Now this is quite a natural occurrence in the hearts of men and no one would have thought much of it save Bunnie himself and the girl of his choice. But that was just it, the girl didn't know for the clerk was afraid to reveal his inmost feelings. In fact he didn't know the girl, he only saw her every day on his way to work. She was a clerk in a bakery not far from the bank. When Bunnie saw her coming down the street he dropped his eyes, a curious little thrill ran over him, and every now and again he coughed. Some days he was early and would have missed her, but for the ruse that he had lost a shilling at the last corner and was forced to turn back to get.

As the months dragged on Bunnie became more and more preoccupied until at last his associates noticed it and twitted him. Once the head clerk severely scolded him.

And all this time Bunnie was wondering what he could do to declare his love in a way that was not too percipitate. The two had begun at last to recognize each other in a distant sort of way, and once Bunnie began a nod to her. But she made no reply so he hastily changed it to an elaborate swallow. One February day Bunnie sat at his desk frankly ignoring his work, thinking of the girl and staring at a commercial calendar that hung before him. Suddenly a change came over him, the glaze left his eyes, and the thin arms galvanized into action. On February 14th was printed in bold type--Birthday of St. Valentine. Here was a way out, not a very good way, by a way. He would write her a letter asking her to be his his Valentine. By Jove careful Bunnie there was an idea. And should be sign it Bunnie or Run, or why sign it? She certainly would know. And thus did Bunnie set his curse on man. He wrote his letter, a trembling, wandering note. The next day was Sunday, but on Monday he was up betimes and he was forced to pull that lost shilling trick three times before his Valentine have in sight. Hello, but there was someone with her. Like a statue that has been smashed in the moving he stood and watched. They were upon him and as they swept by he heard, my God, he heard her say. "The thing that convinced me was that gag about the Valentine. Then I knew it was you."

This the Vagabond has written to show that anonymous sallies into the field of courtship are futile. The whole business ought to be given up. Remember Bunnie and play in your own warren. There are always a few objectionable Louis who want to know what happened to Bunnie whenever the Vagabond tells this story. The answer is unnecessary but simple. Not much.