table introspection
began to take the contract of illuminating my mind. Agreeable family
scenery was thrown around by the magic of the thought. It scattered
about six kids for Jim and the same-sized bunch for me--enough to prove
that human nature abhors the inter-marrying of men as Jim and I had
tried it.

We naturally drifted away from the subject we were both thinking about
and got around to talking on old home matters--the day's doings and the
state of the country; graft, buying and selling law, and what it all had
to do with harming the government and the likelihood of losing our jobs.

It was about 8:30 o'clock as near as I can remember, when a timid knock
on the front door startled both of us. I answered the call, expecting
to find that fairy Miss Tescheron ready to pop in and oust me like a
Republican hold-over on a Tammany Happy New Year's. I peeped out as
charily as a jailer. The dim light revealed a tiny messenger
boy--something awful had probably happened up home! A messenger boy was
enough to startle both of us, for no one in the world would spend half a
dollar to tell us anything unless they were scared into it. I swung the
door open and the boy took off his cap and removed from its sweat-band
stronghold a neat-looking note.

"Say, boss, does Mr. Benjamin Hopkins live up here?" he asked between
breaths, for the five flights had tuckered him.

"That's me," said I, reaching for the note and carefully scanning the
typewritten address, for upon second thought I believed love and not
fright might have sent a note to Jim. But it was for me, so I opened it
and leaning toward the lamp read in diplomatically suppressed wonder:

"Mr. Benjamin Hopkins,

"97 East Eighteenth Street, New York.

"Dear Sir: Do not mention this matter to Hosley, but I wish to see
you at once at the Fifth Avenue Hotel. I have instructed the clerk
to send you to my room immediately. Please come right away, as the
matter cannot wait."

"Yours truly,

"ALBERT TESCHERON."

"Her pa," thought I; but I didn't let on. A stale actor in a play couldn't
have pulled himself together in a more unconcerned-I-do-this-every-night
fashion than I signed for the note, tipped the poor little shaver and
closed the door.

Jim eyed me in surprise, but it was nothing to my own astonishment. What
did old Tescheron want of me? No ma