t raised his glass, put it down again and smiled.
It was a faint smile, but it seemed to affect his host unfavourably.

"What are you smiling at?" he demanded.

"Thoughts," said Mr. Sharp, exchanging a covert glance with Florrie.
"Something you told me the other day."

Mr. Culpepper looked bewildered. "I'll give you a penny for them
thoughts," he said, with an air of jocosity.

Mr. Sharp shook his head. "Money couldn't buy 'em," he said, with owlish
solemnity, "espec--especially after the good supper you're giving me."

"Bert," said Mr. Culpepper, uneasily, as his wife sat somewhat erect
"Bert, it's my birthday, and I don't grudge nothing to nobody; but go
easy with the beer. You ain't used to it, you know."

"What's the matter with the beer?" inquired Mr. Sharp. "It tastes all
right--what there is of it."

"It ain't the beer; it's you," explained Mr. Culpepper.

Mr. Sharp stared at him. "Have I said anything I oughtn't to?" he
inquired.

Mr. Culpepper shook his head, and, taking up a fork and spoon, began to
serve a plum-pudding that Miss Garland had just placed on the table.

"What was it you said I was to be sure and not tell Mrs. Culpepper?"
inquired Mr. Sharp, dreamily. "I haven't said that, have I?"

"No!" snapped the harassed Mr. Culpepper, laying down the fork and spoon
and regarding him ferociously. "I mean, there wasn't anything. I mean,
I didn't say so. You're raving."

"If I did say it, I'm sorry," persisted Mr. Sharp. "I can't say fairer
than that, can I?"

"You're all right," said Mr. Culpepper, trying, but in vain, to exchange
a waggish glance with his wife.

"I didn't say it?" inquired Mr. Sharp.

"No," said Mr. Culpepper, still smiling in a wooden fashion.

"I mean the other thing?" said Mr. Sharp, in a thrilling whisper.

"Look here," exclaimed the overwrought Mr. Culpepper; "why not eat your
pudding, and leave off talking nonsense? Nobody's listening to you."

"Speak for yourself," said his wife, tartly. "I like to hear Mr. Sharp
talk. What was it he told you not to tell me?"

Mr. Sharp eyed her mistily. "I--I can't tell you," he said, slowly.

"Why not?" asked Mrs. Culpepper, coaxingly.

"Because it--it would make your hair stand on end," said the industrious
Mr. Sharp.

"Nonsense," said Mrs. Culpepper, sharply.

"He said it would," said Mr. Sharp, indicating his host with his spoon,
"and he ought--to know-- Who's that kicking me under the table?"

Mr