harmless so long as he doesn't have brandy.
The doctors have warned him that brandy will be fatal.'

'Harold, you are absolutely mistaken. Don't you understand that uncle
has only this minute told me that he MUST have brandy?'

And she again approached the glass to the pale lips of the old man. His
tasselled Turkish smoking-cap had fallen to the floor, and the
hemisphere of his bald head glittered under the gas.

'Maud, I forbid you!' And Harold put a hand on the glass. 'It's a
matter of life and death. You must have misunderstood uncle.'

'It was you who misunderstood uncle,' said Maud. 'Of course, if you
mean to prevent me by brute force--'

They both paused and glanced at Daniel, and then at each other.

'Perhaps you are right, dearest,' said Harold, in a new tone.

'No, dearest,' said Maud, also in a new tone. 'I expect you are right.
I must have misunderstood.'

'No, no, Maud. Give him the brandy by all means. I've no doubt you're
right.'

'But if you think I'd better not give it him--'

'But I would prefer you to give it him, dearest. It isn't likely you
would be mistaken in a thing like that.'

'I would prefer to be guided by you, dearest,' said Maud.

So they went on for several minutes, each giving way to the other in
the most angelic manner.

'AND MEANTIME I'M SUPPOSED TO BE DYING, AM I?' roared Uncle Dan,
suddenly sitting up. 'You'd let th' old uncle peg out while you
practise his precepts! A nice pair you make! I thought for see which on
ye' ud' give way to th' other, but I didna' anticipate as both on ye
'ud be ready to sacrifice my life for th' sake o' domestic peace.'

'But, uncle,' they both said later, amid the universal and yet rather
shamefaced peace rejoicings, 'you said nothing was worth a quarrel.'

'And I was right,' answered Dan; 'I was right. Th' Divorce Court is
full o' fools as have begun married life by trying to convince the
other fool, instead o' humouring him--or her. Kiss us, Maud.'

THE DEATH OF SIMON FUGE

I

It was in the train that I learnt of his death. Although a very greedy
eater of literature, I can only enjoy reading when I have little time
for reading. Give me three hours of absolute leisure, with nothing to
do but read, and I instantly become almost incapable of the act. So it
is always on railway journeys, and so it was that evening. I was in the
middle of Wordsworth's Excursion; I positively gloated over it,
wondering why I should have allowed a