ithout any
southern exposure. A peculiarly terrifying feature of the scene was
that the top of the desk was completely bare, not a single paper lay on
it. Remembering his own desk in the newspaper office, Bleak felt that
this was unnatural and monstrous. He noticed a breathoscope on the
mantelpiece, with its sensitive needle trembling on the scaled dial
which read thus:--

As he watched the indicator oscillate rapidly on the dial, and finally
subside uncertainly at zero, he thanked heaven that they had indulged
in no psychic grogs that day.

The Bishop's black beard foamed downward upon the desk like a gloomy
cataract. Quimbleton for a moment was almost abashed, and regretted
that he had not thought to whitewash his own dingy thicket.

Bishop Chuff's piercing and cruel gaze stabbed all three. He ignored
Theodolinda with contempt. His disdain was so complete that (as the
unhappy girl said afterward) he seemed more like a younger brother than
a father. There were no chairs: they were forced to stand. In a small
mirror fastened to the edge of his desk the sneering potentate could
note the dial-reading of the instrument without turning. He watched the
reflected needle flicker and come to rest.

"So, Mr. Quimbleton," he said, in a harsh and untuned voice, "You come
comparatively sober. Strange that you should choose to be unintoxicated
when you face the greatest ordeal of your life."

The savage irony of this angered Quimbleton.

"One touch of liquor makes the whole world kin," he said. "I assure you
I have no desire to claim kinship with your bitter and intolerant soul."

"Ah?" said the Bishop, with mock politeness. "You relieve me greatly. I
had thought you desired to claim me as father-in-law."

"Oh, Parent!" cried Theodolinda; "How can you be so cruel? Sarcasm is
such a low form of humor."

"I am not trying to be humorous," said the Bishop grimly. "You, who
were once the apple of my eye, are now only an apple of discord. You,
whom I considered such a promising child, are now a breach of promise.
You have sucked my blood. You are a Vampire."

"The Vampire on whom the sun never sets," whispered Quimbleton to the
terrified girl, encouraging her as she shrank against him.

"This is no time for jest," said the Bishop angrily. "You said you had
a matter of vital import to lay before me. Make haste. And remember
that you are here only on sufferance. I shall be pitiless. I shall
scourge the evil principle you repres