h,--and that took ten minutes, try as hard as he could to shorten the
telling,--during which the stuffed peppers were in evidence,--and after
Peter had replied with certain messages to Ruth,--during which the
spaghetti was served sizzling hot, with entrancing frazzlings of brown
cheese clinging to the edges of the tin plate--the Chief Assistant
squared his elbows and plunged head-foremost into the subject.

"And now, I have got a surprise for you, Uncle Peter," cried Jack,
smothering his eagerness as best he could.

The old fellow held up his hand, reached for the shabby, dust-begrimed
bottle, that had been sound asleep under the sidewalk for years; filled
Jack's glass, then his own; settled himself in his chair and said with a
dry smile:

"If it's something startling, Jack, wait until we drink this," and he
lifted the slender rim to his lips. "If it's something delightful, you
can spring it now."

"It is both," answered Jack. "Listen and doubt your ears. I had a letter
from Uncle Arthur this morning asking me to come and see him about my
Cumberland ore property, and I have just spent an hour with him."

Peter put down his glass:

"You had a letter from Arthur Breen--about--what do you mean, Jack."

"Just what I say."

Peter moved close to the table, and looked at the boy in wonderment.

"Well, what did he want?" He was all attention now. Arthur Breen sending
for Jack!--and after all that had happened! Well--well!

"Wants me to put the Cumberland ore property father left me into one of
his companies."

"That fox!" The explosion cleared the atmosphere for an instant.

"That fox!" answered Jack, in a confirmatory tone; and then followed an
account of the interview, the boy chuckling at the end of every sentence
in his delight over the situation.

"And what are YOU going to do?" asked Peter in an undecided tone. He had
heard nothing so comical as this for years.

"Going to do nothing,--that is, nothing with Uncle Arthur. In the first
place, the property is worthless, unless half a million of money is
spent upon it."

"Or is SAID to have been spent upon it," rejoined Peter with a smile,
remembering the Breen methods.

"Exactly so;--and in the second place, I would rather tear up the deed
than have it added to Uncle Arthur's stock of balloons."

Peter drummed on the table-cloth and looked out of the window. The boy
was right in principle, but then the property might not be a balloon at
all; might in fact