ir
at a neighbouring table. It was plain even at that distance that Daniel
Brewster had his troubles and was bearing them with an ill grace. He was
scowling absently at the table-cloth.

"YOU call him," said Archie, having inspected his formidable relative.
"You know him better."

"Let's go over to him."

They crossed the room. Lucille sat down opposite her father.-Archie
draped himself over a chair in the background.

"Father, dear," said Lucille. "Archie has got an idea."

"Archie?" said Mr. Brewster incredulously.

"This is me," said Archie, indicating himself with a spoon. "The tall,
distinguished-looking bird."

"What new fool-thing is he up to now?"

"It's a splendid idea, father. He wants to help you over your new
hotel."

"Wants to run it for me, I suppose?"

"By Jove!" said Archie, reflectively. "That's not a bad scheme! I never
thought of running an hotel. I shouldn't mind taking a stab at it."

"He has thought of a way of getting rid of Salvatore and his shop."

For the first time Mr. Brewster's interest in the conversation seemed to
stir. He looked sharply at his son-in-law.

"He has, has he?" he said.

Archie balanced a roll on a fork and inserted a plate underneath. The
roll bounded away into a corner.

"Sorry!" said Archie. "My fault, absolutely! I owe you a roll. I'll sign
a bill for it. Oh, about this sportsman Salvatore, Well, it's like this,
you know. He and I are great pals. I've known him for years and years.
At least, it seems like years and years. Lu was suggesting that I
seek him out in his lair and ensnare him with my diplomatic manner and
superior brain power and what not."

"It was your idea, precious," said Lucille.

Mr. Brewster was silent.--Much as it went against the grain to have to
admit it, there seemed to be something in this.

"What do you propose to do?"

"Become a jolly old ambassador. How much did you offer the chappie?"

"Three thousand dollars. Twice as much as the place is worth. He's
holding out on me for revenge."

"Ah, but how did you offer it to him, what? I mean to say, I bet you got
your lawyer to write him a letter full of whereases, peradventures, and
parties of the first part, and so forth. No good, old companion!"

"Don't call me old companion!"

"All wrong, laddie! Nothing like it, dear heart! No good at all, friend
of my youth! Take it from your Uncle Archibald! I'm a student of human
nature, and I know a thing or two."

"That's not mu