rchiefs--?"

"Upper bureau drawer in the bedroom."

In a twinkling P. Sybarite was off and back again with materials for
an antiseptic wash and a rude bandage.

"How'd you know I was Irish?" demanded the patient.

"By yoursilf's name," quoth P. Sybarite in a thick brogue as natural
as grass, while he worked away busily. "'Tis black Irish, and well I
know it. 'Twas me mither's maiden name--Kenny. She had a brother,
Michael he was and be way av bein' a rich conthractor in this very
town as ever was, befure he died--God rist his sowl! He left two
children--a young leddy who mis-spells her name M-a-e A-l-y-s--keep
still!--and Peter, yersilf, me cousin, if it's not mistaken I am."

"The Lord save us!" said the boy. "You're never Percy Sybarite!"

P. Sybarite winced. "Not so loud!" he pleaded in a stage whisper.
"Some one might hear you."

"What the devil's the matter with you?"

"I am that man you named--but, prithee, Percy me no Percevals, an'
you'd be my friend. For fifteen years I've kept my hideous secret
well. If it becomes public now ..."

Peter Kenny laughed in spite of his pain.

"I'll keep your secret, too," he volunteered, "since you feel that way
about it.... But, I say: what have you been doing with yourself
since--since--" He stammered.

"Since the fall of the House of Sybarite?"

"Yes. I didn't know you were in New York, even."

"Your mother and Mae Alys knew it--but kept it quiet, the same as me,"
said the little man.

"But--well--what _have_ you been doing, then?"

"Going to and fro like a raging lion--more or less--seeking what I
might devour."

"And the devourings have been good, eh? You're high-spirited enough."

"I think," said P. Sybarite quietly--"I may say--though you can't see
it--that my present smile would, to a shrewd observer, seem to
indicate I'd swallowed a canary-bird ... a nice, fat, golden
canary-bird!" he repeated, smacking his lips with unction.

"You talk as if you'd swallowed a dictagraph," said Peter Kenny.

"It's my feeling," sighed P. Sybarite. "But yourself? Let's see; when
I saw you last you were the only authentic child pest of your day and
generation--six or seven at most. How long have you been out of
college?"

"A year--not quite."

"And sporting bachelor rooms of your own!"

"I'm of age. Besides, if you must know, mother and Mae Alys are both
dotty on the society game, and I'm not. I won't be rushed round to
pink teas and--and all that sort of thing.