ld have assaulted him.

"It is very kind of Mrs. Smithers, I think," said the School-master, "to
provide us with such delightful cakes as these free of charge."

"Yes," said the Idiot, helping himself to six cakes. "Very kind indeed,
although I must say they are extremely economical from an architectural
point of view--which is to say, they are rather fuller of pores than of
buckwheat. I wonder why it is," he continued, possibly to avert the
landlady's retaliatory comments--"I wonder why it is that porous
plasters and buckwheat cakes are so similar in appearance?"

"And so widely different in their respective effects on the system," put
in a genial old gentleman who occasionally imbibed, seated next to the
Idiot.

"I fail to see the similarity between a buckwheat cake and a porous
plaster," said the School-master, resolved, if possible, to embarrass
the Idiot.

"You don't, eh?" replied the latter. "Then it is very plain, sir, that
you have never eaten a porous plaster."

To this the School-master could find no reasonable reply, and he took
refuge in silence. Mr. Whitechoker tried to look severe; the gentleman
who occasionally imbibed smiled all over; the Bibliomaniac ignored the
remark entirely, not having as yet forgiven the Idiot for his gross
insinuation regarding his friend's _edition de luxe_ of _Through Africa
by Daylight_; Mary, the maid, who greatly admired the Idiot, not so much
for his idiocy as for the aristocratic manner in which he carried
himself, and the truly striking striped shirts he wore, left the room
in a convulsion of laughter that so alarmed the cook below-stairs that
the next platterful of cakes were more like tin plates than cakes; and
as for Mrs. Smithers, that worthy woman was speechless with wrath. But
she was not paralyzed apparently, for reaching down into her pocket she
brought forth a small piece of paper, on which was written in detail the
"account due" of the Idiot.

"I'd like to have this settled, sir," she said, with some asperity.

"Certainly, my dear madame," replied the Idiot, unabashed--"certainly.
Can you change a check for a hundred?"

No, Mrs. Smithers could not.

"Then I shall have to put off paying the account until this evening,"
said the Idiot. "But," he added, with a glance at the amount of the
bill, "are you related to Governor McKinley, Mrs. Smithers?"

"I am not," she returned, sharply. "My mother was a Partington."

"I only asked," said the Idiot, apologe