I will!" the unfortunate Quimby groaned, as soon as he could be
heard. "I--what can I say, to express my sorrow--I--" and suddenly
ceasing to revolve, he snatched Mr. Stanwood's hat, and started for the
door.

"Where are you going!" his friend questioned as gravely as he could.

"More Charlotte Russes!" he responded incoherently, and with an agonized
face.

"If I may be permitted to make a suggestion," said Mr. Stanwood with
labored gravity, "I should say, some little change in your toilet would
be quite appropriate before going on the street, and moreover, that my
hat will not fit your head!"

At this, Quimby dropped the hat he held as if it had been red-hot,
glanced at the chair whereon he had so lately distinguished himself,
took up the tails of his coat one in each hand, revolved again, and then
without a word darted from the room.

As well as she could from laughing, Cyn called after him, telling him
not to mind about getting the Charlotte Russes, and to hurry back, but
he made no response.

"Poor Quimby!" said Mr. Stanwood, wiping the tears of excessive mirth
from his eyes. "He is such a good fellow, it is too bad he always is in
hot water."

"Yes," assented Cyn, removing the chair with the remains of what had
been clinging to it from sight, Nattie following it with a somewhat
rueful glance. "Shall we wait for him? I fear our dinner is getting
cold."

"I don't think we had better," Nattie, who had long been filled with a
similar presentiment, responded. "There is no knowing whether he will
return or not, and it's no use in having everything spoiled."

"I do not think he will expect us to wait," Mr. Stanwood said.

"Well then," said Cyn, "here is a chair for you, Mr. Stanwood. It's all
right, so you need not look before sitting. Luckily you are taller than
we, and need no books to raise you. Now the question is, what shall we
give you to eat from? Ah! here is the bread plate! Nat, can't you find
another wooden cover? No? Then spread a piece of brown paper over
'Scribner's.' How fortunate we have an extra knife and fork; you don't
mind their being oyster forks? I thought not! Nat and I will use the
same spoon, so you can have a whole one. Nat, you and I will have to
drink from that cracked tumbler."

"Allow me," interrupted Mr. Stanwood. "Do you know," solemnly, "a
cracked tumbler is and always was the height of my ambition."

"Well then, we are all right!" said the jovial Cyn. "But I fear," she
add