heir OWN lunch. Yes," she added, after a pause,
"I'll write and have Selina join us. I haven't seen Selina in months. I
guess I'll have to put up a lunch for her, though," admitted Trina, "the
way we did last time, because she lives in a boarding-house now, and
they make a fuss about putting up a lunch."

They could count on pleasant weather at this time of the year--it was
May--and that particular Tuesday was all that could be desired. The
party assembled at the ferry slip at nine o'clock, laden with baskets.
The McTeagues came last of all; Ryer and his wife had already boarded
the boat. They met the Heises in the waiting-room.

"Hello, Doctor," cried the harness-maker as the McTeagues came up. "This
is what you'd call an old folks' picnic, all married people this time."

The party foregathered on the upper deck as the boat started, and sat
down to listen to the band of Italian musicians who were playing outside
this morning because of the fineness of the weather.

"Oh, we're going to have lots of fun," cried Trina. "If it's anything I
do love it's a picnic. Do you remember our first picnic, Mac?"

"Sure, sure," replied the dentist; "we had a Gotha truffle."

"And August lost his steamboat," put in Trina, "and papa smacked him. I
remember it just as well."

"Why, look there," said Mrs. Heise, nodding at a figure coming up the
companion-way. "Ain't that Mr. Schouler?"

It was Marcus, sure enough. As he caught sight of the party he gaped at
them a moment in blank astonishment, and then ran up, his eyes wide.

"Well, by damn!" he exclaimed, excitedly. "What's up? Where you all
going, anyhow? Say, ain't ut queer we should all run up against each
other like this?" He made great sweeping bows to the three women, and
shook hands with "Cousin Trina," adding, as he turned to the men of
the party, "Glad to see you, Mister Heise. How do, Mister Ryer?" The
dentist, who had formulated some sort of reserved greeting, he
ignored completely. McTeague settled himself in his seat, growling
inarticulately behind his mustache.

"Say, say, what's all up, anyhow?" cried Marcus again.

"It's a picnic," exclaimed the three women, all speaking at once; and
Trina added, "We're going over to the same old Schuetzen Park again. But
you're all fixed up yourself, Cousin Mark; you look as though you were
going somewhere yourself."

In fact, Marcus was dressed with great care. He wore a new pair of
slate-blue trousers, a black "cutaway,"