chanically took a volume from the shelf, and as she opened it her
eyes fell on these lines:

"How art thou fallen from Heaven, O Lucifer, son of the Morning!"

* * *

Old Sanders builded better than he knew.

XI

When Diotti and old Sanders left the house they walked rapidly down
Fifth Avenue. It was after eleven, and the streets were bare of
pedestrians, but blinking-eyed cabs came up the avenue, looking at a
distance like a trail of Megatheriums, gliding through the darkness.
The piercing wind made the men hasten their steps, the old man by a
semi-rotary motion keeping up with the longer strides and measured
tread of the younger.

When they reached Fourteenth Street, the elder said, "I live but a
block from here," pointing eastward; "what do you say to a hot toddy?
It will warm the cockles of your heart; come 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 bur