he whole thing was done up almost tight enough to play a
tune on.

For the rest, her attire was neat, though careless. One had always the
delusion that part or all of it was on the point of coming off.

The young man was wiping his weak eyes upon a voluminous silk handkerchief
which had evidently seen long service since its last washing. "Dear Uncle
Ebeneezer," he breathed, running his long, bony fingers through his hair.
"I cannot tell you how heavily this blow falls upon me. Dear Uncle
Ebeneezer was a distinguished patron of the arts. Our country needs more
men like him, men with fine appreciation, vowed to the service of the
Ideal. If you will pardon me, I will now retire to my apartment and remain
there a short time in seclusion."

So saying, he ran lightly upstairs, as one who was thoroughly at home.

"Who in--" began Harlan.

"Mr. Harold Vernon Perkins, poet," said Dick. "He's got his rhyming
dictionary and all his odes with him."

"Without knowing," said Dorothy, "I should have thought his name was
Harold or Arthur or Paul. He looks it."

"It wa'n't my fault," interjected the old lady, "that he come. I didn't
even sense that he was on the same train as me till I hired the carriage
at the junction an' he clim' in. He said he might as well come along as we
was both goin' to the same place, an' it would save him walkin', an' not
cost me no more than 't would anyway."

While she was speaking, she had taken off her outer layer of drapery and
her bonnet. "I'll just put these things in my room, my dear," she said to
Dorothy, "an' then I'll come back an' talk to you. I like your looks
first-rate."

"Who in--," said Harlan, again, as the old lady vanished into one of the
lower wings.

"Mrs. Belinda something," answered Dick. "I don't know who she's married
to now. She's had bad luck with her husbands."

Mrs. Carr, deeply troubled, was leaning against the wall in the hall, and
Dick patted her hand soothingly. "Don't you fret," he said, cheerily; "I'm
here to see you through."

"That being the case," remarked Harlan, with a certain acidity in his
tone, "I'll go back to my work."

The old lady appeared again as Harlan slammed the library door, and
suggested that Dick should go away.

"Polite hint," commented Mr. Chester, not at all disturbed. "See you
later." He went out, whistling, with his cap on the back of his head and
his hands in his pockets.

"I reckon you're a new relative, be n't you?" asked the l