zed
calmly up into the familiar face.

Under the frame of the picture was written his full hyphenated name;
following that she read:

PRESIDENT AND FOUNDER
OF
THE SAGAMORE ANGLING CLUB
1880-1901

Major Brent and Colonel Hyssop observed her in decorously suppressed
sympathy.

"I did not know he was president," she said, after a moment; "he never
told me that."

"Those who knew him best understood his rare modesty," said Major Brent.
"I knew him, madam; I honored him; I honor his memory."

"He was not only president and founder," observed Colonel Hyssop, "but
he owned three-quarters of the stock."

"Are the shares valuable?" she asked. "I have them; I should be glad to
give them to the club, Colonel Hyssop--in his memory."

"Good gad! madam," said the Colonel, "the shares are worth five thousand
apiece!"

"I am the happier to give them--if the club will accept," she said,
flushing, embarrassed, fearful of posing as a Lady Bountiful before
anybody. She added, hastily, "You must direct me in the matter, Colonel
Hyssop; we can talk of it later."

Again she looked up into her husband's face over the mantel.

Her bull-terrier came trotting into the hall, his polished nails and
padded feet beating a patter across the hardwood floor.

"I shall dine in my own rooms this evening," she said, smiling vaguely
at the approaching dog.

"We hoped to welcome you to the club table," cried the Major.

"There are only the Major and myself," added the Colonel, with courteous
entreaty.

"And the other--the new man," corrected the Major, with a wry face.

"Oh yes--the bad rod. What's his name?"

"Langham," said the Major.

The English maid came down to conduct her mistress to her rooms; the two
gentlemen bowed as their build permitted; the bull-terrier trotted
behind his mistress up the polished stairs. Presently a door closed
above.

"Devilish fine woman," said Major Brent.

Colonel Hyssop went to a mirror and examined himself with close
attention.

"Good gad!" he said, irritably, "how thin my hair is!"

"Thin!" said Major Brent, with an unpleasant laugh; "thin as the hair on
a Mexican poodle."

"You infernal ass!" hissed the Colonel, and waddled off to dress for
dinner. At the door he paused. "Better have no hair than a complexion
like a violet!"

"What's that?" cried the Major.

The Colonel slammed the door.

Up-stairs the bull-terrier lay on a rug watching his mistress with
tireless e