be on in no time."

"Right-o, dad! Shame to make a slavey of you in this way. I'll be out in
a jiffy."

He threw off his coat and vest, shirt and collar, took a pail of water
to a big block in the little shed at the back, soused his head and
shoulders in it with loud snorting and puffing, and emerged in a few
minutes looking refreshed, clean and wholesome, his handsome face
shining with vigorous health.

Together they stood at the table while the son said a few words of
reverent grace.

"I'm ravenous, dad. What! Fried potatoes! Oh, you are a brick."

"Tired, boy?"

"No. That reminds me of my thrilling tale, which I shall begin after
my third slice of toast, and not before. You can occupy the precious
minutes, dad, in telling me of your excitements in the office this
afternoon."

"Don't sniff at me. I had a few, though apparently you think it
impossible in my humdrum grey life."

"Good!" said Barry, his mouth full of toast. "Go on."

"Young Neil Fraser is buying, or has just bought, the S.Q.R. ranch.
Filed the transfer to-day."

"Neil Fraser? He's in my tale, too. Bought the S.Q.R.? Where did he get
the stuff?"

"Stuff?"

"Dough, the dirt, the wherewithal, in short the currency, dad."

"Barry, you are ruining your English," said his father.

"Yum-yum. Bully! Did you notice that, dad? I'm coming on, eh? One thing
I almost pray about, that I might become expert in slinging the modern
jaw hash. I'm appallingly correct in my forms of speech. But go on, dad.
I'm throwing too much vocalisation myself. You were telling me about
Neil Fraser. Give us the chorus now."

"I don't like it, boy," said his father, shaking his head, "and
especially in a clergyman."

"But that's where you are off, dad. The trouble is, when I come within
range of any of my flock all my flip vocabulary absolutely vanishes,
and I find myself talking like a professor of English or a maiden lady
school ma'am of very certain age."

"I don't like it, boy. Correct English is the only English for a
gentleman."

"I wonder," said the lad. "But I don't want to worry you, dad."

"Oh, as for me, that matters nothing at all, but I am thinking of you
and of your profession, your standing."

"I know that, dad. I sometimes wish you would think a little more about
yourself. But what of Neil Fraser?"

"He has come into some money. He has bought the ranch."

Barry's tone expressed doubtful approval. "Neil is a good sort, dad,
awfully reckless,