the left, announcing, "Cap'm Ormond!" in a slovenly fashion
which merited a rebuke from somebody.

The room into which the yokel ushered me appeared to be a library, low
of ceiling, misty with sour pipe smoke, which curled and floated level,
wavering as the door closed behind me.

Through the fog, which nigh choked me with its staleness, I perceived a
bulky gentleman seated at ease, sucking a long clay pipe, his bulging
legs cocked up on a card-table, his little, inflamed eyes twinkling red
in the candle-light.

[Illustration: "YOU'RE MY COUSIN, GEORGE ORMOND, OR I'M THE FATTEST LIAR
SOUTH OF MONTREAL!".]

"Captain Ormond?" he cried. "Captain be damned; you're my cousin, George
Ormond, or I'm the fattest liar south of Montreal! Who the devil put 'em
up to captaining you--eh? Was it that minx Dorothy? Dammy, I took it
that the old Colonel had come to plague me from his grave--your father,
sir! And a cursed fine fellow, if he was second cousin to a Varick,
which he could not help, not he!--though I've heard him damn his luck to
my very face, sir! Yes, sir, under my very nose!"

He fell into a fit of fat coughing, and seized a glass of
spirits-and-water which stood on the table near his feet. The draught
allayed his spasm; he wiped his broad, purple face, chuckled, tossed off
the last of the liquor with a smack, and held out a mottled, fat hand,
bare of wrist-lace. "Here's my heart with it, George!" he cried. "I'd
stand up to greet you, but it takes ten minutes for me to find these
feet o' mine, so I'll not keep you waiting. There's a chair; fill it
with that pretty body of yours; cock up your feet--here's a pipe--here's
snuff--here's the best rum north o' Norfolk, which that ass Dunmore laid
in ashes to spite those who kicked him out!"

He squeezed my hand affectionately. "Pretty bird! Dammy, but you'll
break a heart or two, you rogue! Oh, you are your father all over again;
it's that way with you Ormonds--all alike, and handsome as that young
devil Lucifer; too proud to be proud o' your dukes and admirals, and a
thousand years of waiting on your King. As lads together your father
used to take me by the ear and cuff me, crying, 'Beast! beast! You eat
and drink too much! An Ormond's heart lies not in his belly!' And I
kicked back, fighting stoutly for the crust he dragged me from. Dammy,
why not? There's more Dutch Varick than Irish Ormond in me. Remember
that, George, and we shall get on famously together, you and