thing," said a voice from a
doorway, "and therefore you needn't jump; but I wish to inquire if you
two want any breakfast?"

A few days later Peter again went up the steps of the Fifty-seventh
Street house. This practice was becoming habitual with Peter; in fact,
so habitual that his cabby had said to him this very day, "The old
place, sir?" Where Peter got the time it is difficult to understand,
considering that his law practice was said to be large, and his
political occupations just at present not small. But that is immaterial.
The simple fact that Peter went up the steps is the essential truth.

From the steps, he passed into a door; from the door he passed into a
hall; from a hall he passed into a room; from a room he passed into a
pair of arms.

"Thank the Lord, you've come," Watts remarked. "Leonore has up and down
refused to make the tea till you arrived."

"I was at headquarters, and they would talk, talk, talk," said Peter. "I
get out of patience with them. One would think the destinies of the
human race depended on this campaign!"

"So the Growley should have his tea," said a vision, now seated on the
lounge at the tea-table. "Then Growley will feel better."

"I'm doing that already," said Growley, sitting down on the delightfully
short lounge--now such a fashionable and deservedly popular drawing-room
article. "May I tell you how you can make me absolutely contented?"

"I suppose that will mean some favor from me," said Leonore. "I don't
like children who want to be bribed out of their bad temper. Nice little
boys are never bad-tempered."

"I was only bad-tempered," whispered Peter, "because I was kept from
being with you. That's cause enough to make the best-tempered man in the
universe murderous."

"Well?" said Leonore, mollifying, "what is it this time?"

"I want you all to come down to my quarters this evening after dinner.
I've received warning that I'm to be serenaded about nine o'clock, and I
thought you would like to hear it."

"What fun," cried Leonore. "Of course we'll go. Shall you speak?"

"No. We'll sit in my window-seats merely, and listen."

"How many will there be?"

"It depends on the paper you read. The 'World' will probably say ten
thousand, the 'Tribune' three thousand, and the 'Voice of Labor' 'a
handful.' Oh! by the way, I brought you a 'Voice'." He handed Leonore a
paper, which he took from his pocket.

Now this was simply shameful of him! Peter had found, whenever th