anded the old man.

"Papa," said the son, with much tenderness, "I cannot permit you.
Fifteen years we were strangers, and yesterday were friends. You must
not leave me so. I will even settle this quarrel for you. You must let
me. I am pledged to your service."

The peace-loving little doctor did not mean "to settle," but "to
adjust." He felt in an instant that he was misunderstood; yet, as quiet
people are apt to do, though not wishing to deceive, he let the
misinterpretation stand. In his embarrassment he did not know with
absolute certainty what he should do himself.

The father's face--he thought of but one way to settle a quarrel--began
instantly to brighten. "I would myself do it," he said, apologetically,
"but my friends forbid it."

"And so do I," said the Doctor, "but I will go myself now, and will not
return until all is finished. Give me the paper."

"My son, I do not wish to compel you."

There was something acid in the Doctor's smile as he answered:

"No; but give me the paper, if you please."

The General handed it.

"Papa," said the son, "you must wait here for my return."

"But I have an appointment at Maspero's at"--

"I will call and make excuse for you," said the son.

"Well," consented the almost happy father, "go, my son; I will stay. But
if some of your sick shall call?"

"Sit quiet," said the son. "They will think no one is here." And the
General noticed that the dust lay so thick on the panes that a person
outside would have to put his face close to the glass to see within.

In the course of half an hour the Doctor had reached the newspaper
office, thrice addressed himself to the wrong person, finally found the
courteous editor, and easily convinced him that his father had been
imposed upon; but when Dr. Mossy went farther, and asked which one of
the talented editorial staff had written the article:

"You see, Doctor," said the editor--"just step into my private office a
moment."

They went in together. The next minute saw Dr. Mossy departing hurriedly
from the place, while the editor complacently resumed his pen, assured
that he would not return.

General Villivicencio sat and waited among the serpents and innocents.
His spirits began to droop again. Revolving Mossy's words, he could not
escape the fear that possibly, after all, his son might compromise the
Villivicencio honor in the interests of peace. Not that he preferred to
put his son's life in jeopardy; he would not ob