gain.

"That's nothing to some of the things he can do," said Zack. "Look
here! Put yourself stomach downwards on the carpet; and if you think
the waistband of your trousers will stand it, he'll take you up in his
teeth."

"Thank you, Zack, I'm perfectly satisfied without risking the waistband
of my trousers," rejoined Valentine, returning in a great hurry to the
table.

"The grog's getting cold," grumbled Mat. "Do you find it slip down
easy now?" he continued, handing the squaw's mixture in the friendliest
manner to Mr. Blyth.

"Astonishingly easy!" answered Valentine, drinking this time almost with
the boldness of Zack himself. "Now it's cooler, one tastes the sugar.
Whenever I've tried to drink regular grog, I have never been able to get
people to give it me sweet enough. The delicious part of this is that
there's plenty of sugar in it. And, besides, it has the merit (which
real grog has not) of being harmless. It tastes strong to me, to be
sure; but then I'm not used to spirits. After what you say, however, of
course it must be harmless--perfectly harmless, I have no doubt." Here
he sipped again, pretty freely this time, by way of convincing himself
of the innocent weakness of the squaw's mixture.

While Mr. Blyth had been speaking, Mat's hands had been gradually
stealing down deeper and deeper into the pockets of his trousers, until
his finger and thumb, and a certain plastic substance hidden away in the
left-hand pocket came gently into contact, just as Valentine left off
speaking. "Let's have another toast," cried Mat, quite briskly, the
instant the last word was out of his guest's mouth. "Come on, one of
you and give us another toast," he reiterated, with a roar of barbarous
joviality, taking up his glass in his right hand, and keeping his left
still in his pocket.

"Give you another toast, you noisy old savage!" repeated Zack, "I'll
give you _five,_ all at once! Mr. Blyth, Mrs. Blyth, Madonna, Columbus,
and The Golden Age--three excellent people and two glorious pictures;
let's lump them all together, in a friendly way, and drink long life
and success to them in beakers of fragrant grog!" shouted the young
gentleman, making perilously rapid progress through his second glass, as
he spoke.

"Do you know, I'm afraid I must change to some other place, if you have
no objection," said Mr. Blyth, after he had duly honored the composite
toast just proposed. "The fire here, behind me, is getting rather too
hot