peacemaking effect.

"James Bishop, you should be ashamed of yourself!" exclaimed Mrs.
Bishop, tugging at the remnant of a shirt, which promptly detached
itself from the general wreck.

[Illustration: "We're not fighting, my dear!"]

"Robert Harding, what do you mean by fighting?" gasped Mrs. Harding,
tugging at his undershirt, the outer garment long since having lost its
entity.

Instantly they relaxed their holds, rolled over and came to a sitting
posture, facing each other and their respective wives. It was as if the
act had carefully been rehearsed, and was ludicrous beyond any
description at my command.

Their glances rested for an instant on one another, and then on their
frightened and indignant helpmates. Their attitude was that of two
schoolboys detected by their teachers in some forbidden act. I am sure
Harding would have spoken sooner if he could have recovered his breath.

"We're not fighting, my dear!" he managed to say. "Are we, Jim?" he
added with a mighty effort.

"Of course not," declared Bishop, gouging a piece of turf from his eye.
"We're only rasslin'; that's all, isn't it, Bob?"

"And you in your best suit of clothes, James Bishop!" exclaimed his good
wife.

"You should see how you look, Mr. Harding," added his better half with
justifiable emphasis. "Are you hurt?" anger changing to solicitude.

"Of course I'm not hurt," he asserted. "We were only fooling. Where in
thunder is my shirt?"

And then Chilvers and Carter and Marshall and I exploded. It was not a
dignified thing to do, and I apologised to both of the ladies afterward,
but we fell down on that mutilated croquet-ground and laughed until
exhausted. I am glad Miss Harding and the others were not there.

Assisted by their wives the two gladiators had struggled to their feet,
but the most cursory inspection disclosed that they were more
presentable when on the ground. And then the ladies joined in the laugh.

"Jack," said Mr. Bishop, who has called me by that nickname since I was
seven years old, "Jack, go out to the old barn and get a pair of horse
blankets. You know where I keep them."

"You've got a great head on you, Jim," roared Harding. "I was thinking
of a pair of barrels."

When I returned with the red and yellow blankets the ladies had
disappeared.

"Never mind sending down to the club for your other clothes," Bishop was
saying. "I've got several suits, such as they are, and I reckon one of
them will fit ye."