use."

There was a moment of complete silence while his hearers considered the
vast scope of this remarkable suggestion. It is only fair to say that
Mr. Bleak's face had at first lighted up, but then he glanced at his
wife and his countenance grew pinched. He spoke hastily:

"A very generous thought, my dear fellow; but I feel that you would be
far more competent for this form of public service than I could hope to
be."

"Your modesty does you credit," replied Quimbleton, "but you forget
that owing to my relation with Miss Chuff I shall happily be precluded
from the necessity of entering public life for this purpose."

"And what, pray," said Mrs. Bleak with distinct asperity, "is to become
of me and the children if Mr. Bleak is elected to this preposterous
office?"

"I was coming to that," said Quimbleton eagerly. "It would be arranged,
of course, that the Perpetual Souse would be granted a liberal salary
for his family expenses; you and your delightful children would be
maintained at the public expense in a suitable bungalow nearby, with a
private family entrance into the official cellars. Your rank, of
course, would be that of Perpetual Spouse."

"My good Quimbleton," said Bleak, somewhat bitterly, "this is a
fascinating vision indeed, but how can it be accomplished? How would
you ever get such a scheme accepted by Bishop Chuff, who will never
forgive you for kidnaping his daughter? You are building bar-rooms in
Spain, my dear chap; you are blowing mere soap-bubbles."

"And why not?" cried his friend. "Bishop Chuff has called me a soap-box
orator. At any rate, a man who stands upon a soap-box is nearer heaven
by several inches than the man who stands upon the ground."

Theodolinda's face sparkled with the impact of an idea.

"Come," she said, "it's not impossible after all. I have a thought.
We'll offer Father an armistice and talk things over with him. He
doesn't know what straits we're in, and maybe we can bring him to
terms. He was very badly scared by those gooseberry bombs, and maybe we
can bluff him into a concession."

"If we had had any luck," said Quimbleton, "we would have blown him
into a concussion. But anyway, that's a bonny scheme. We'll grant him a
truce. Bleak, you're a newspaper man, just get hold of the United Press
and let them know the armistice is signed."

Bleak smiled wanly at the thrust.

"All right," he said. "Let's go. But what's your idea, Miss Chuff? We
must have something to