who could think of nothing better to say.

"Not at all," responded the old gentleman, authoritatively.

Bixby was silent again.

The old gentleman, leaning with his elbow on the table, began again.

"You like to live well, Mr. Bangs?"

"I try to," answered Mr. Bixby.

"Yes."

"This must be some relative of Bangs come to deliver him a lecture on
his course of life. Why don't he broach his advice at once?" thought
Mr. Bixby. The visitor here pulled a glove from his right hand, ran
his fingers through his hair, and then, in a more business-like tone,
spoke again:

"Although a stranger to you personally, Mr. Bangs, I have always taken
a great interest in your family. Mr. Bangs, I knew your father."

"Indeed! I never heard him speak--"

"No, I dare say; it was near the end of his life. I was near by, and
rendered him some assistance, when he died suddenly of apoplexy. He
was not so much of a man as your grandfather."

"Was he not?" asked Mr. Bixby, musingly. He was thinking how old the
grandfather of his friend Bangs must have been.

"No," continued the elderly gentleman; "but even his judgment I never
considered equal to that of your great-grandfather."

"Here is, indeed, a friend--a friend of the family. Why is Mr. Bangs
away?" thought Mr. Bixby, and he bent his head a little, and looked
under the drop-light, to get a view of his visitor. He saw only the
reflection on his spectacles, and drew back suddenly, for fear of
being detected.

"You like a good song, I have heard, Mr. Bangs," came from the other
side of the table. "Have you any favorite?"

Mr. Bixby did not understand this at all. The question puzzled him.
Should he as Bangs fall in the estimation of some relative if he
admitted the fact? Or did his visitor intend to sing? However, he felt
compelled to be frank, so he said:

"Oh, yes; I like a good song. Some of the Scotch ballads please me
most. There is 'The Land o' the Leal.'"

"A very fine song, sir. A very fine song. It is a credit to any man to
like that song."

The old gentleman was excited. Mr. Bixby was just congratulating
himself on having given Bangs a lift, when his thoughts were turned
into an altogether new channel by the following remark:

"It was my impression, however, that your taste ran rather in the way
of drinking-songs. I should have thought now you would have said, 'The
Coal-Black Wine.'"

There was something in the tone with which this was uttered that made
Mr. Bix