h his
fingers, after having slipped through the roof of his conservatory; but
as between two stools folks fall to the ground, so between two rages
people sometimes tumble into safety. O'Grady was in a divided
passion--first his wrath was excited against Furlong for _his_ blunder,
and just as that was about to explode, the crash of Andy's sudden
appearance amidst the flower-pots (like a practical parody on "Love
among the roses") called off the gathering storm in a new direction,
and the fury sufficient to annihilate one, was, by dispersion, harmless
to two. But on the return of the party from the conservatory, after
Andy's descent to the kitchen, O'Grady's rage against Furlong, though
moderated, had settled down into a very substantial dissatisfaction,
which he evinced by poking his nose between his forefinger and thumb,
as if he meditated the abstraction of that salient feature from his
face, shuffling his feet about, throwing his right leg over his left
knee, and then suddenly, as if that were a mistake, throwing his left
over the right, thrumming on the arm of his chair, with his clenched
hand, inhaling the air very audibly through his protruded lips, as if
he were supping hot soup, and all the time fixing his eyes on the fire
with a portentous gaze, as if he would have evoked from it a
salamander.

Mrs. O'Grady in such a state of affairs, wishing to speak to the
stranger, yet anxious she should say nothing that could bear upon
immediate circumstances lest she might rouse her awful lord and master,
racked her invention for what she should say; and at last, with "bated
breath" and a very worn-out smile, faltered forth--

"Pray, Mr. Furlong, are you fond of shuttlecock?"

Furlong stared, and began a reply of "Weally, I _cawn't_ say
that----"

When O'Grady gruffly broke in with, "You'd better ask him, does he love
teetotum."

"I thought you could recommend me the best establishment in the
metropolis, Mr. Furlong, for buying shuttlecocks," continued the lady,
unmindful of the interruption.

"You had better ask him where you can get mouse-traps," growled
O'Grady.

Mrs. O'Grady was silent, and O'Grady, whose rage had now assumed its
absurd form of tagging changes, continued, increasing his growl, like a
_crescendo_ on the double-bass, as he proceeded:--"You'd better ask,
I think--mouse-traps--steel-traps--clap-traps--rat-traps--rattle-traps--
rattle-snakes!"

Furlong stared, Mrs. O'Grady was silent, and the Mis