red in a way that drove
understanding into their thick heads.

It was an uncomfortable experience for all except Gray himself--he
actually enjoyed it--and when the last dish had been removed, and he
had given instructions to serve the meal over again exactly as he had
served it, the three negroes were glad to obey. Of course they made
mistakes, but these Gray instantly corrected, and the results of his
dress rehearsal were, on the whole, surprising.

"There!" he said, when the ordeal had finally come to an end. "A little
patience, a little practice, and you'll be proud of them. Incidentally,
I have saved you a fortune in dishes."

"I wish Allie'd been here. She'd remember everything you said," Ma
declared.

"Lord! Think of Mr. Gray waitin' on them niggers!" Gus was still deeply
shocked.

"You see what a meddlesome busybody I am," the guest laughed. "I don't
know how to mind my own business, and the one luxury I enjoy most of
all is regulating other people's affairs." He was still talking, still
lecturing his hearers upon the obligations prosperity had put upon
them, when he was summoned to the telephone by a long-distance call. He
returned in some agitation to announce: "Well, at last I have business
of my own to attend."

"Was that Buddy talkin'?"

"It was, and he gave me some good news. He says that well on
thirty-five is liable to come in at any minute, and it looks like a big
one." The speaker's eyes were glowing, and he ran on, breathlessly, "He
says they're betting it will do better than ten thousand barrels!"

"_Ten thousand bar'ls!_" Briskow echoed.

"That's what he said. Of course, they can't tell a thing about it.
Buddy's only guessing, but--I haven't had a big well yet." Gray took a
nervous turn about the room.

"Ten thousand barrels! Lord! That would help. That would do the trick.
And to think that it should come now, this very day--" He laughed
triumphantly and ran on as if talking to himself: "'The wicked are
fatted for destruction. Their happiness shall pass away like a
torrent.' Pull out and leave me, eh?" A second time he laughed, more
loudly. "Luck? It isn't luck, it's Destiny. The mills of the Gods are
grinding. Ma Briskow, the fairy ladies danced upon the hearth when I
was born. Do you know what that means?"

"Ten thousand bar'ls a day, an' you buttlin' for three niggers!" gasped
the head of the house.

"I'm going out on to-night's train and see it come in--if it does come
in. I told