t. With her a new spirit had arrived in the ancient stronghold
of the Yankee.

"I began to learn things about Harry--a big, blond, handsome youth who
had traveled much. He had been to school in New York, London,
Florence, and Paris, and had graduated from Harvard. For a time he
called it Hahvud, but passed that trouble without serious injury and
put it behind him. In the European stage of his career he had been
attacked by lions, griffins, and battle-axes and had lost some of his
red blood. There he had acquired a full line of Fifth Avenue dialect
and conversation with trills and grace notes from France and Italy. He
had been slowly recovering from that trouble for a year or so when I
met him. Now and then a good, strong, native idiom burst out in his
conversation.

"Harry was a man without a country, having never had a fair chance to
acquire one. He had touched many high and low places--from the top of
the Eiffel Tower to the lowest depths of the underworld. Also, he knew
the best hotels in Europe and eastern America, and the Duke of
Sutherland and the Lord Mayor of London, and Jack Johnson, the
pugilist. Harry knew only the upper and lower ends of life.

"He was an extremist. Also, he was a prolific and generous liar. He
lied not to deceive, but to entertain. There was a kind of noble
charity in his lying. He would gladly perjure his soul to speed an
hour for any good friend. His was the fictional imagination largely
exercised in the cause of human happiness. Now and then he became the
hero of his own lies, but he was generally willing to divide the
honors. His friends knew not when to believe him, and he often
deceived them when he was telling the truth.

"Early in April, Henry Delance came to me and said: 'Soc, you've been
working hard for years, and you need a rest. Let's get aboard the next
steamer and spend a fortnight in England.'

"I had little taste for foreign travel, but Betsey urged me to go, and
I went with Henry and his wife, their daughter Ruth and the boy Harry,
and sundry maids and valets. We had been a week in London, when Henry
and the Mrs. came into my room one day, aglow with excitement. Mrs.
Delance was first to address me.

"'Mr. Potter, congratulate us,' said she. 'We find that Henry is a
lineal descendant of William the Conqueror.'

"'Henry, it is possible that William could prove an alibi, or maybe
you could,' I suggested.

"'I'd make an effort,' said he, with a trace of embarrassmen