over to my house and I'll
mix you the best drink in New York."

The younger thought the suggestion a good one and they turned toward
the house of old Sanders.

It was a neat, red brick, two-story house, well in from the street,
off the line of the more pretentious buildings on either side. As the
old man opened the iron gate, the police officer on the beat passed;
he peered into the faces of the men, and recognizing Sanders, said,
"tough night, sir."

"Very," replied the addressed.

"All good old gentlemen should be in bed at this hour," said the
officer, lifting one foot after the other in an effort to keep warm,
and in so doing showing little terpsichorean grace.

"It's only the shank of the evening, officer," rejoined the old man,
as he fumbled with the latch key and finally opened the door. The two
men entered and the officer passed on.

Every man has a fad. One will tell you he sees nothing in billiards or
pool or golf or tennis, but will grow enthusiastic over the scientific
possibilities of mumble-peg; you agree with him, only you substitute
"skittles" for "mumble-peg."

Old Sanders' fad was mixing toddies and punches.

"The nectar of the gods pales into nothingness when compared with a
toddy such as I make," said he. "Ambrosia may have been all right for
the degenerates of the old Grecian and Roman days, but an American
gentleman demands a toddy--a hot toddy." And then he proceeded with
circumspection and dignity to demonstrate the process of decocting
that mysterious beverage.

The two men took off their overcoats and went into the sitting-room. A
pile of logs burned brightly in the fire-place. The old man threw
another on the burning heap, filled the kettle with water and hung it
over the fire. Next he went to the sideboard and brought forth the
various ingredients for the toddy.

"How do you like America?" said the elder, with commonplace
indifference, as he crunched a lump of sugar in the bottom of the
glass, dissolving the particles with a few drops of water.

"Very much, indeed," said the Tuscan, with the air of a man who had
answered the question before.

"Great country for girls!" said Sanders, pouring a liberal quantity of
Old Tom gin in the glass and placing it where it gradually would get
warm.

"And for men!" responded Diotti, enthusiastically.

"Men don't amount to much here, women run everything," retorted the
elder, while he repeated the process of preparing the sugar and gin i