en really well for several
years, he said.

At that, Mr. Schofield laughed and slapped him heartily on the back.

"Oh, mercy!" Mr. Gilling cried, leaping in his chair. "What IS the
matter?"

"Nothing!" Mr. Schofield laughed. "I just slapped you the way we used to
slap each other on the campus. What I was going to say was that you have
no business being a bachelor. With all your money, and nothing to do but
travel and sit around hotels and clubs, no wonder you've grown bilious."

"Oh, no; I'm not bilious," Mr. Gilling said uncomfortably. "I'm not
bilious at all."

"You ought to get married," Mr. Schofield returned. "You ought--" He
paused, for Mr. Gilling had jumped again. "What's the trouble, Joe?"

"Nothing. I thought perhaps--perhaps you were going to slap me on the
back again."

"Not this time," Mr. Schofield said, renewing his laughter. "Well, is
dinner about ready?" he asked, turning to his wife. "Where are Margaret
and Penrod?"

"Margaret's just come in," Mrs. Schofield answered. "She'll be down in a
minute, and Penrod's around somewhere."

"Penrod?" Mr. Gilling repeated curiously, in his nervous, serious way.
"What is Penrod?"

And at this, Mrs. Schofield joined in her husband's laughter. Mr.
Schofield explained.

"Penrod's our young son," he said. "He's not much for looks, maybe; but
he's been pretty good lately, and sometimes we're almost inclined to be
proud of him. You'll see him in a minute, old Joe!"

Old Joe saw him even sooner. Instantly, as Mr. Schofield finished his
little prediction, the most shocking uproar ever heard in that house
burst forth in the kitchen. Distinctly Irish shrieks unlimited came from
that quarter--together with the clashing of hurled metal and tin, the
appealing sound of breaking china, and the hysterical barking of a dog.

The library door flew open, and Mrs. Cullen appeared as a mingled streak
crossing the room from one door to the other. She was followed by a
boy with a coal-black nose and between his feet, as he entered, there
appeared a big long, black, horrible snake, with frantic legs springing
from what appeared to be its head; and it further fulfilled Mrs.
Cullen's description by making a fizzin' noise. Accompanying the snake,
and still faithfully endeavouring to guide it with the detached handle
of a rake, was a small black demon with a gassly white forehead and
gasslier white hair. Duke evidently still feeling his bath, was doing
all in his power to aid