l, corked it, tied on the capsule, labeled, addressed, wrapped, and
sealed it. The long-drawn, subtle corners of Ranny's eyes and mouth were
lifted in that irrepressible smile of his, while Mr. Ransome asserted
his pharmaceutical dignity by acrimonious comment. "_Now_ then! You
might have club feet instead of hands. Tha's right--mess the
sealin'-wax, waste the string, spoil anything you haven't got to pay
for. That'll do."

Mr. Ransome took the parcel from his son's hand, turned it round and
round under the gaslight, laid it down, and dismissed it with a flick as
of contempt for his incompetence. At that Ranny gave way and giggled.

Ten minutes later he and his mother stood in the doorway of the back
parlor and watched the master's superb and solitary ascent to his
bedroom on the first floor back. It was then that Ranny; still smiling,
delivered his innermost opinion.

"Queer old Humming-bird. Ain't he, Mar?"

His mother shook her head at him. "Oh, Ranny," she said, "you shouldn't
speak so disrespectful of your father."

But she kissed him for it, all the same.

CHAPTER V

That was how they kept it up together.

Not that Mrs. Ransome was conscious of keeping it up, of ministering to
an illusion as monstrous as it was absurd. She had married Mr. Ransome,
believing with a final and absolute conviction in his wisdom and his
goodness. What she was keeping up had kept up for twenty-two years, and
would keep up forever, was the attitude of her undying youth. It was its
triumph over life itself.

In her youth the draper's daughter had been dazzled by Mr. Ransome, by
his attainments, his position, his distinction. Fulleymore Ransome had
about him the small refinement of the suburban shopkeeper, made finer by
the intellectual processes that had turned him out a Pharmaceutical
Chemist.

In her world of Wandsworth High Street his grave, fastidious figure had
stood for everything that was superior. He was superior still. He had
never offered his Headache as a spectacle to the public eye. Born in
secrecy and solitude, it remained unseen outside the sacred circle of
his home. Even there he had contrived to create around it an atmosphere
of mystery. So that it was open to Mrs. Ransome to regard each Headache
as an accident, a thing apart, solitary and miraculous in its
occurrence. Faced with the incredible fact, she found a certain
gratification in the thought that Mr. Ransome's position enabled him to
order the b