fairly oozed enthusiasm and Clara J.'s pulse began to climb
with excitement and anticipation.

I was on the bargain counter, marked down from 30 cents.

Every time Uncle Peter sprang a new idea in reference to his
garden, and they came so fast they almost choked him, I felt a
burning bead of perspiration start out to explore my forehead.

Presently to put the froth of fear upon my cup of sorrow there came
a telegram from "Bunch" which read as follows:

New York ----

John Henry
No. 301 W. 109th St.

Sister and family will move in country house tomorrow be sure to
play your game to-day good luck.

Bunch.

"Poor John! you look so worried," said Clara J., anxiously; "I
really hope it is nothing that will call you back to town for a
week at least. It will take us fully a week to get settled, don't
you think so, Aunt Martha?"

I dove into my coffee cup and stayed under a long time. When I
came to the surface again Uncle Peter was explaining to Tacks that
baked beans grew only in a very hot climate, and in the general
confusion the telegram was forgotten by all except my harpooned
self.

Clara J. and Aunt Martha were both tearful when we left the flat to
ride to the station, but to my intense relief no mention was made
of the trunks, consequently I began to lift the mortgage from my
life and breathe easier.

On the way out Tacks left a small parcel with one of the hall boys
with instructions to hand it to the janitor as soon as possible.

"It's a little present for the janitor in loving remembrance of his
memory," Tacks explained with something that sounded like a catch
in his voice.

"Hasn't that boy a lovely disposition?" Aunt Martha beamed on
Tacks; "to be so forgiving to the janitor after the horrid man had
sworn at him and blamed him for putting a cat in the dumb waiter
and sending it up to the nervous lady on the seventh floor who
abominated cats and who screamed and fell over in a tub of suds
when she opened the dumb-waiter door to get her groceries and the
cat jumped at her. Mercy! how can the boy be so generous!"

Tacks bore up bravely under this panegyric of praise and his face
wore a rapt expression which amounted almost to religious fervor.

"What did you give the janitor, Angel-Face?" I asked.

"Only just another remembrance," Tacks answered, solemnly. "I
happened to find a poor, little dead mouse under the gas range and
I thought I'd farewell the janitor with it."

Aun