Jerry.

"And if it be possible," his father went on, "so far as in you lies, do
not spill the shellac about. Shellac is an excellent thing in its place,
but I don't like it on the seat of my chair, where I found it this
morning, nor sprinkled over the new 'Century,' as it was last night. And
it isn't as if there were any to spare; the can is very low."

"I know!" said Gerald, penitently. "I am awfully sorry, Pater. I threw a
cushion at Fergs, and it upset the can. I scraped up as much as I could;
I think there is enough left for this job. If not, would that varnish
do?"

"Varnish--" said Mr. Merryweather; and he plunged into a dissertation
upon the abominations of most varnishes and the iniquities of their
makers. Gerald replied, defending certain kinds for certain purposes;
the others chimed in, and a heated discussion was going on, when Claud
Belleville joined the party. In spotless gray tweeds, with a white
Manila hat and a lavender necktie, he made a singular contrast to the
campers in their flannel shirts and dingy corduroys.

At his appearance, Gerald rose from his squatting posture at the stern
of the boat, while Phil and Jack amiably made way for the newcomer at
the edge of the wharf, where, for some unexplained reason, men always
like to stand. Claud, finding himself between Gerald and his father,
turned toward the latter with an air of cheerful benevolence.

"Cousin Miles," he said, "you must promise me, you really must, to come
to us at Bar Harbor before the end of the summer. I gave my word to
Mamma that I would induce you to come. She longs to see you."

"I should like very much to see her," said Mr. Merryweather. "We were
always very good friends, your mother and I. Give her my love, and tell
her that some time when she is in New York I shall run on to see her;
possibly this autumn, before you sail. It would not be possible for me
to leave here now."

"Oh, but yes!" cried Mr. Belleville, airily. "It could be possible,
Cousin Miles. Here are the boys, absolutely _au fait_ in bog-trotting of
every description; in fact, suited to the life--in all its aspects." He
swept Gerald with a comprehensive glance, from his mop of red hair,
tanned into rust-color, to his feet, clad in superannuated "sneakers."

"They can do all the honors of the place as they should be done," he
added. "But you, Cousin Miles, you must positively come to Bar Harbor.
You live too much the life of the fields. Mamma is constantly d