urtney, "By the way, I owe my poker
guests to Johnny Gamble. He asked if they would be here, and seemed to
want them. He's a live member! Did I ever tell you how he helped me
skin old Mort Washer?" And, changing his mind about entering the
jessamine bower, Mr. Courtney, explaining with great glee the skinning
of his friend Mort Washer, took the other path and the two strolled
away without having seen or heard the luckless eavesdroppers.

The miserable pair in the bower, exhibiting various shades of red,
looked steadfastly out into the blue, blue sky for some minutes in
stupefied silence. Johnny presently picked up his sailor straw hat and
surveyed the nick in its brim with ingenuous interest.

"I bought that hat in Baltimore," he inanely observed.

Constance suddenly rose and walked straight out of there--alone!

CHAPTER XVIII

IN WHICH THE ENTIRE WOBBLES FAMILY FOR ONCE GET TOGETHER

Mr. Eugene Wobbles, who tried to live down his American ancestry in
London clubs and was, consequently, more British than any Englishman,
came to Mr. Courtney lazily apologetic.

"I fancy I'm going to give you a lot of bother, my dear Courtney," he
observed, lounging feebly against the porch rail.

"I prefer bother to almost anything," returned his host pleasantly; "it
gives me something to do."

"Rather clever that," laughed Eugene, swinging his monocle with one
hand and stroking his drooping yellow mustache with the other. "Really
I never thought of bother in that way before. Keeps one bothered, I
think you said," and he gazed out over the broad lawn where the young
people were noisily congregating, in pleasant contemplation of
Courtney's wonderful new philosophy.

"What is this particular bother?" gently suggested Courtney after a
pause.

"Oh, yes," responded Eugene, "we were discussing that, weren't we? I've
a rotten memory; but my oldest brother, Tommy, can't even remember his
middle initial. Pretty good that, don't you think; Tommy is a perfect
ass in every respect." And idly considering Tommy's perfection as an
ass, he turned and gazed down into the ravine where Courtney had built
some attractive little waterfalls and cave paths. "About how deep
should you say it was down there, Courtney?"

"Three hundred and fifty feet," answered Courtney. "I think you were
speaking about a little bother."

"Oh, yes, so I was," agreed Eugene. "Very good of you to remind me of
it. You know, Courtney, Mr. Gamble--who wants to