vil servants should be debarred from
political activity. In spite of my efforts, the conversation became
sectional. Mac motioned me to join him on the porch for a smoke.

"What do you think?" he said, when he had lighted up.

"The time is past for imaginative forecast," I replied. "It is obvious
that Mr. Carville, having been tremendously interested in his own life,
is determined to tell us all about it. Before lunch I hardly knew what
to think, but now I feel fairly certain that he will bring us safely to
the conclusion."

"There never is a conclusion to stories in real life," said he.

"Well, you know what I mean. He'll account for the facts as we see them,
anyhow. His wife, his brother, his living here, and so on."

"And Gladys," added Mac.

"Ah! I expect we've heard the last of Gladys. She was evidently an early
flame, since gone out." I struck a match.

"I say, old man."

"What?"

"What a tale his brother could tell, eh?"

"Possibly; but perhaps his brother has not the faculty," I said.

"No. Here he comes!"

Mr. Carville appeared on the sidewalk, his Derby hat on his head, his
corn-cob in his mouth. For a moment he turned, and, looking back, flung
out his hand with a gesture expressive of petulance and dismissal
towards an invisible person at his door. And then he came towards us
sedately, caressing his pipe, eyes on the ground, and seated himself in
the Fourth Chair in silence.

"I was wondering," he said at last, "if after all you'd just as soon I
didn't tell you all this about myself and got right on to my married
life. Eh?"

"Speaking for myself," I said, hastily, "no! Please tell your story as
you have it in your mind. Don't edit it. _I'll_ do that."

He gave me one of his quick looks and smiled.

"Right!" he said, and shook himself straight in his chair. "I'll get
busy. I've got to get the five o'clock train, and the wife--she said
she'd have a bit of tea ready for me at four."

He sat at the far end of the verandah, the furled hammock tickling his
ears, and he shifted the chair so that he faced north, looking towards
his own house. As he opened his mouth to replace his pipe, Bill opened
the door and led Miss Fraenkel out to be introduced.

It was a ceremonious bow with which Mr. Carville greeted her as he rose.
He did not offer to shake hands, as middle-class people generally do, to
their credit. He gave her one square look and then dropped his eyes, and
I couldn't detect him even gla