ntinuously, seizing the bait, and rushing headlong over sunken rocks and
through tangled weeds of the improbable in a way that would have done
credit to a Munchausen of older date. As for Jack, he let him run on. One
plank in the platform of his hospitality was to give every guest a free
rein.

Before the men separated for the day, the major had invited each
individual person to make Crab Island his home for the balance of his
life, regretting that no woman now graced his table since Mrs. Slocomb's
death,--"Major Talbot's widow--Major John Talbot of Pocomoke, suh," this
impressively and with sudden gravity of tone,--placing his stables, his
cellar, and his servants at their disposal, and arranging for everybody
to meet everybody else the following day in Baltimore, the major starting
that night, and Jack and his friends the next day. The whole party would
then take passage on board one of the Chesapeake Bay boats, arriving off
Crab Island at daylight the succeeding morning.

This was said with a spring and joyousness of manner, and a certain
quickness of movement, that would surprise those unfamiliar with some of
the peculiarities of Widow Talbot's second husband. For with that true
spirit of vagabondage which saturated him, next to the exquisite luxury of
lying sprawled on a lounge with a noiseless servant attached to the other
end of an electric wire, nothing delighted the major so much as an outing,
and no member of any such junketing party, be it said, was more popular
every hour of the journey. He could be host, servant, cook, chambermaid,
errand-boy, and _grand seigneur_ again in the same hour, adapting himself
to every emergency that arose. His good-humor was perennial, unceasing,
one constant flow, and never checked. He took care of the dogs, unpacked
the bags, laid out everybody's linen, saw that the sheets were dry,
received all callers so that the boys might sleep in the afternoon, did
all the disagreeable and uncomfortable things himself, and let everybody
else have all the fun. He did all this unconsciously, graciously, and
simply because he could not help it. When the outing ended, you parted
from him with all the regret that you would from some chum of your college
days. As for him, he never wanted it to end. There was no office, nor law
case, nor sick patient, nor ugly partner, nor complication of any kind,
commercial, social, or professional, which could affect the major. For him
life was one prolonged