d eat another."

Assuming that the forced inquiry was an invitation, before protest
could be entered he supplied himself with a plate and helped
himself to food. His need and relish of the meal weakened Silvia's
fortifications.

This opening, of course, was the wedge that let in other Polydores,
and thereafter we seldom sat down to a meal without the presence of
one or more members of the illustrious and famished family, who made
themselves as entirely at home as would a troop of foraging soldiers.
Silvia gazed upon their devouring of food with the same surprised,
shocked, and yet interested manner in which one watches the feeding of
animals.

"I suppose he ought not to eat so many pickles," she remarked one day,
as Emerald consumed his ninth Dill.

"You can't kill a Polydore," I assured her.

I never opened a door but more or less Polydores fell in. They were at
the left of us and at the right of us, with Diogenes always under
foot. We had no privacy. I found myself waking suddenly in the night
with the uncomfortable feeling that Ptolemy lurked in a dark corner or
two of my bedroom.

Even Silvia's boudoir was not free from their invasion. But one door
in our house remained closed to them. They found no open sesame to
Huldah's apartment.

"I wish she would let me in on her system," I said. "I wonder how she
manages to keep them on the outside?"

"I can tell you," confided Silvia. "Emerald and Demetrius went in one
day and she dropped Demetrius out the window and kicked Emerald out
the door. You know, Lucien, you are too softhearted to resort to such
measures."

"I was once," I confessed, "but I think under Polydore regime I am
getting stoical enough to follow in Huldah's footsteps and go her one
better."

Our conversation was interrupted by the entrance of Diogenes.

Silvia screamed.

Turning to see what the latest Polydore perpetration might be, I saw
that Diogenes was frothing at the mouth.

"Oh, he's having a fit!" exclaimed Silvia frantically. "Call Huldah!
Put him in a hot bath. Quick, Lucien, turn on the hot water."

"Not I," I refused grimly. "Let him have a fit and fall in it."

"He ain't got no fit," was the cheerful assurance of Pythagoras, as he
sauntered in.

"Your mother would have one," I told him, "if she could hear your
English."

"What is the matter with him?" asked Silvia. "Does he often foam in
this way?"

"He's been eating your tooth powder," explained Pythagoras. "He likes