ed his coat tails and seated himself enjoyably on the
bed.

"D-don't come often," he said, "m-might as well have the best."

"Jethro," said Wetherell, coughing nervously and fumbling in the pocket
of his coat, "you've been very kind to us, and we hardly know how to
thank you. I--I didn't have any use for these."

He held out the pieces of cardboard which had come in Cynthia's letter.
He dared not look at Jethro, and his eye was fixed instead upon the
somewhat grandiose signature of Isaac D. Worthington, which they bore.
Jethro took them and tore them up, and slowly tossed the pieces into
a cuspidor conveniently situated near the foot of the bed. He rose and
thrust his hands into his pockets.

"Er--when you get freshened up, come into Number 7," he said.

Number 7! But we shall come to that later. Supper first, in a great
pillared dining room filled with notables, if we only had the key.
Jethro sits silent at the head of the table eating his crackers and
milk, with Cynthia on his left and William Wetherell on his right.
Poor William, greatly embarrassed by his sudden projection into the
limelight, is helpless in the clutches of a lady-waitress who is
demanding somewhat fiercely that he make an immediate choice from a list
of dishes which she is shooting at him with astonishing rapidity. But
who is this, sitting beside him, who comes to William's rescue, and
demands that the lady repeat the bill of fare? Surely a notable, for he
has a generous presence, and jet-black whiskers which catch the light,
which give the gentleman, as Mr. Bixby remarked, "quite a settin'."
Yes, we have met him at last. It is none other than the Honorable Heth
Sutton, Rajah of Clovelly, Speaker of the House, who has condescended to
help Mr. Wetherell.

His chamberlain, Mr. Bijah Bixby, sits on the other side of the
Honorable Heth, and performs the presentation of Mr. Wetherell. But
Mr. Sutton, as becomes a man of high position, says little after he
has rebuked the waitress, and presently departs with a carefully chosen
toothpick; whereupon Mr. Bixby moves into the vacant seat--not to Mr.
Wetherell's unqualified delight.

"I've knowed him ever sense we was boys," said Mr. Bixby; "you saw how
intimate we was. When he wants a thing done, he says, 'Bije, you go
out and get 'em.' Never counts the cost. He was nice to you--wahn't he,
Will?" And then Mr. Bixby leaned over and whispered in Mr. Wetherell's
ear; "He knows--you understand--he knows."