ential, anxious to please. You will pilot her
up the coast to Barton, tip the servants heavily to keep them from
murdering her, and twiddle your thumbs in your garage as you await her
further pleasure. By the way, are those ancient freaks still on the
place--those broken-down hotel employees who were your uncle's sole
experiment in philanthropy?"

"Torrence assures me that they are all very much there."

Searles yielded himself to laughter. "An Englishwoman with lofty ideas
of domestic service would certainly enjoy a romp with that crew. I
supposed the trust company had brushed them into the Sound before this."

"Oh, they are in the same class with me," I explained. "The place can't
be sold till I die, and while I live they're to be harbored--about
thirty of them--clothed and victualled."

"I think there's a farce in the idea, and I may try it one of these
days," he said, scribbling in his note-book. "A refuge for broken-down
chambermaids, venerable bell-hops grown gray in the service, and the
head waiter who amassed a fortune in tips and then toyed with the market
once too often and lost his ill-gotten gains. What was the head waiter's
name who presided with so much stateliness in the dining-room of the
Tyringham? I mean the white-haired chap who was so particular about the
foot-cushions for the nice old ladies in caps and lavender ribbons and
India shawls--I think I can work him in somewhere."

"That's Antoine, who married the assistant housekeeper at the
Tyringham. He's the butler and has charge of the place--a sort of
commander-in-chief of the outfit. When I get settled I'll ask you up and
you can study the bunch at leisure."

"Splendid! Reserve one room for me on the sunny side of the garage and
I'll be up in a couple of weeks. I'm going to Ohio to-morrow for a
family reunion and a look at the loved spots my infancy knew."

"You're lucky to have home-folks even in Ohio," I remarked enviously.

"Well, there's always your distant auntie, cruising the seven seas in
pursuit of husbands. Nobody with an aunt to his credit can pretend to be
alone in the world. There _is_ something about an aunt, Singleton! Aunts
must rank just a little below mothers in the heavenly kingdom. When I
was a boy out in Ohio there were two great occasions every year in my
life--one when I went to visit a grand old aunt I had in the country,
the other when she visited us, arriving with a wagon-load of jam, jelly,
salt-rising bread, pound