cknowledged Bertram. "Say, what in time is
Spunk, do you suppose?"

"Dog, maybe," suggested William.

"Well, whatever he is, you will kindly keep Spunk down-stairs," said
Cyril with decision. "The boy, I suppose I shall have to endure; but the
dog--!"

"Hm-m; well, judging by his name," murmured Bertram, apologetically, "it
may be just possible that Spunk won't be easily controlled. But maybe he
isn't a dog, anyhow. He--er--sounds something like a parrot to me."

Cyril rose to his feet abruptly. He had eaten almost no dinner.

"Very well," he said coldly. "But please remember that I hold you
responsible, Bertram. Whether it's a dog, or a parrot, or--or a monkey,
I shall expect you to keep Spunk down-stairs. This adopting into the
family an unknown boy seems to me very absurd from beginning to end.
But if you and William will have it so, of course I've nothing to say.
Fortunately my rooms are at the TOP of the house," he finished, as he
turned and left the dining-room.

For a moment there was silence. The brows of the younger man were
uplifted quizzically.

"I'm afraid Cyril is bothered," murmured William then, in a troubled
voice.

Bertram's face changed. Stern lines came to his boyish mouth.

"He is always bothered--with anything, lately."

The elder man sighed.

"I know, but with his talent--"

"'Talent'! Great Scott!" cut in Bertram. "Half the world has talent of
one sort or another; but that doesn't necessarily make them unable
to live with any one else! Really, Will, it's becoming serious--about
Cyril. He's getting to be, for all the world, like those finicky old
maids that that young namesake of yours wrote about. He'll make us
whisper and walk on tiptoe yet!"

The other smiled.

"Don't you worry. You aren't in any danger of being kept too quiet,
young man."

"No thanks to Cyril, then," retorted Bertram. "Anyhow, that's one
reason why I was for taking the kid--to mellow up Cyril. He needs it all
right."

"But I had to take him, Bert," argued the elder brother, his face
growing anxious again. "But Heaven only knows what I'm going to do with
him when I get him. What shall I say to him, anyway? How shall I write?
I don't know how to get up a letter of that sort!"

"Why not take him at his word and telegraph? I fancy you won't have to
say 'come' but once before you see him. He doesn't seem to be a bashful
youth."

"Hm-m; I might do that," acquiesced William, slowly. "But wasn't there
somebody