d
trembled and wabbled as the cab bounced down the avenue. It may have
been "precious"; it was probably "pups!"

[Illustration]

XI

[Illustration]

But there were further poignant emotions in store for the poet, for, as
his cab swung out of the avenue and drew up before the great house on
the southwest corner of Seventy-ninth Street and Madison Avenue, he
caught a glimpse of his eldest daughter, Iole, vanishing into the house,
and, at the same moment, he perceived his son-in-law, Mr. Wayne, paying
the driver of a hansom-cab, while several liveried servants bore
houseward the luggage of the wedding journey.

"George!" he cried dramatically, thrusting his head from the window of
his own cab as that vehicle drew up with a jolt that made his stomach
vibrate, "George! I am here!"

Wayne looked around, paid the hansom-driver, and, advancing slowly,
offered his hand as the poet descended to the sidewalk. "How are you?"
he inquired without enthusiasm as the poet evinced a desire to paw him.
"All is well here, I hope."

"George! Son!" The poet gulped till his dewlap contracted. He laid a
large plump hand on Wayne's shoulders. "Where are my lambs?" he
quavered; "where are they?"

"Which lambs?" inquired the young man uneasily. "If you mean Iole and
Vanessa----"

"No! My ravished lambs! Give me my stolen lambs. Trifle no longer with a
father's affections! Lissa!--Cybele! Great Heavens! Where are they?" he
sobbed hoarsely.

"Well, _where_ are they?" retorted his son-in-law, horrified. "Come into
the house; people in the street are looking."

In the broad hall the poet paused, staggered, strove to paw Wayne, then
attempted to fold his arms in an attitude of bitter scorn.

"Two penniless wastrels," he muttered, "are wedded to my lambs. But
there are laws to invoke----"

An avalanche of pretty girls in pink pajamas came tumbling down the
bronze and marble staircase, smothering poet and son-in-law in happy
embraces; and "Oh, George!" they cried, "how sunburned you are! So is
Iole, but she is too sweet! Did you have a perfectly lovely honeymoon?
When is Vanessa coming? And how is Mr. Briggs? And--oh, do you know the
news? Cybele and Lissa married two such extremely attractive young men
this afternoon----"

"Married!" cried Wayne, releasing Dione's arms from his neck. "_Whom_
did they marry?"

"Pups!" sniveled the poet--"penniless, wastrel pups!"

"Their names," said Aphrodite coolly, from the top of t