ter! She--a--wears a wig. She--a--very curious
old character indeed! She--a--quite the old style. There's no doing
anything with her!" and Ripton took a long breath to relieve himself
after his elaborate fiction.

"So it appears," Hippias commented, and Algernon asked: "Well? and about
her wig? Somebody stole it?" while Richard, whose features were grim with
suppressed laughter, bade the narrator continue.

Ripton lunged for the claret jug. He had got an old lady like an
oppressive bundle on his brain, and he was as helpless as she was. In the
pangs of ineffectual authorship his ideas shot at her wig, and then at
her one characteristic of extreme obstinacy, and tore back again at her
wig, but she would not be animated. The obstinate old thing would remain
a bundle. Law studies seemed light in comparison with this tremendous
task of changing an old lady from a doll to a human creature. He flung
off some claret, perspired freely, and, with a mental tribute to the
cleverness of those author fellows, recommenced: "Oh, nothing!
She--Richard knows her better than I do--an old lady--somewhere down in
Suffolk. I think we had better advise her not to proceed. The expenses of
litigation are enormous! She--I think we had better advise her to stop
short, and not make any scandal."

"And not make any scandal!" Algernon took him up. "Come, come! there's
something more than a wig, then?"

Ripton was commanded to proceed, whether she did or no. The luckless
fictionist looked straight at his pitiless leader, and blurted out
dubiously, "She--there's a daughter."

"Born with effort!" ejaculated Hippias. "Must give her pause after that!
and I'll take the opportunity to stretch my length on the sofa. Heigho!
that's true what Austin says: 'The general prayer should be for a full
stomach, and the individual for one that works well; for on that basis
only are we a match for temporal matters, and able to contemplate
eternal.' Sententious, but true. I gave him the idea, though! Take care
of your stomachs, boys! and if ever you hear of a monument proposed to a
scientific cook or gastronomic doctor, send in your subscriptions. Or say
to him while he lives, Go forth, and be a Knight! Ha! They have a good
cook at this house. He suits me better than ours at Raynham. I almost
wish I had brought my manuscript to town, I feel so much better. Aha! I
didn't expect to digest at all without my regular incentive. I think I
shall give it up.--What do you