of countenance--a notable feat--and sent the rival favorite growling
and bristling from the room. Usually Mr. Fopling took no part in what
conversations raged around him; it was the reason of some surprise,
therefore, to both Bess and Richard when, at the mention of Storri's
name, Mr. Fopling's ears pricked up a flicker of interest and he
betrayed symptoms of being about to speak.

"Stow-wy!" exclaimed Mr. Fopling thoughtfully, as though identifying
that nobleman, while Bess and Richard looked on as do folk who behold a
miracle, "Stow-wy! I say, Stawms, why don't you go into Wall Stweet and
bweak the beggah? He's always gambling, don't y' know! Bweak him; that's
the way to punish such a fellah."

"Why! what a malicious soul you have grown!" cried Bess in astonishment.
"Really, Algy,"--Mr. Fopling's name was Algernon,--"if you burst on us
in this guise often, I for one shall stand in terror of you!"

"But, weally," protested Mr. Fopling, "if you want to get even with a
fellah, Bess, just bweak him! It's simply awful, they say, for a chap to
be bwoke. As for this Stow-wy, if Stawms hasn't got the money to go
aftah him, I'll let him have some of mine. You see, Bess," concluded Mr.
Fopling, with a broad candor that proved his love, "I hate this cweature
Stow-wy."

"Why?" asked Richard, somewhat interested in his unexpected ally.

"He spoke dewisively of me," and with that Mr. Fopling lapsed.

Richard went slowly homeward, his chin on his chest, not in
discouragement, but thought. The counsel of the vacuous Mr. Fopling
followed him to ring in his ears like words of guidance.

"Bweak him!" squeaked Mr. Fopling, feebly vicious.

Since Mr. Fopling had never been known to think anything or say anything
anterior to this singular outburst, the conclusion forced itself upon
Richard that Mr. Fopling was inspired. Nor could Richard put Mr. Fopling
and his violent advice out of his head.

"Money is the villain's heart's-blood!" thought Richard. "I'm inclined
to conclude that Fopling is right. If I take his money from him, he is
helpless--a viper without its fangs, a bear with its back broken!"

Richard put in that evening in his own apartments. Had you been there to
watch his face, you would have been struck by the capacity for hate and
love and thought displayed in the lowering brow and brooding eye.
Richard smoked and considered; at eight o'clock he rang for Mr. Gwynn.

That precise gentleman of stiffness and English immo