ohair had at length fallen a victim to his own good cheer.
He took post with Judge Short at the foot of the stair, where, in spite
of the protests of the Celebrity and of other well-disposed persons, the
two favored the parting guests with an occasional impromptu song and
waved genial good-byes to the ladies. And, when Mrs. Short attempted to
walk by with her head in the air, as though the judge were in an
adjoining county, he so far forgot his judicial dignity as to chuck her
under the chin, an act which was applauded with much boyish delight by
Mr. Cooke, and a remark which it is just as well not to repeat. The
judge desired to spend the night at Mohair, but was afterwards taken home
by main force, and the next day his meals were brought up to him. It is
small wonder that Mrs. Short was looked upon as the head of the outraged
party. The Ten were only spoken of in whispers. Three of them had been
unable to come to time when the last figure was called, whereupon their
partners were whisked off the scene without so much as being allowed to
pay their respects to the hostess. Besides these offences, there were
other minor barbarisms too numerous to mention.

Although Mrs. Short's party was all-powerful at Asquith, there were some
who, for various reasons, refused to agree in the condemnation of Mr.
Cooke. Judge Short and the other gentlemen in his position were, of
course, restricted, but Mr. Trevor came out boldly in the face of severe
criticism and declared that his daughter should accept any invitation
from Mrs. Cooke that she chose, and paid but little attention to the
coolness resulting therefrom. He was fast getting a reputation for
oddity. And the Celebrity tried to conciliate both parties, and
succeeded, though none but he could have done it. At first he was eyed
with suspicion and disgust as he drove off to Mohair in his Hempstead
cart, and was called many hard names. But he had a way about him which
won them in the end.

A few days later I ran over to Mohair and found my client with the
colored Sunday supplement of a Chicago newspaper spread out before him,
eyeing the page with something akin to childish delight. I discovered
that it was a picture of his own hunt ball, and as a bit of color it was
marvellous, the scarlet coats being very much in evidence.

"There, old man!" he exclaimed. "What do you think of that? Something
of a sendoff, eh?" And he pointed to a rather stout and important
gentleman in the fore