g in a wooden fashion.

"I mean the other thing?" said Mr. Sharp, in a thrilling whisper.

"Look here," exclaimed the overwrought Mr. Culpepper; "why not eat your
pudding, and leave off talking nonsense? Nobody's listening to you."

"Speak for yourself," said his wife, tartly. "I like to hear Mr. Sharp
talk. What was it he told you not to tell me?"

Mr. Sharp eyed her mistily. "I--I can't tell you," he said, slowly.

"Why not?" asked Mrs. Culpepper, coaxingly.

"Because it--it would make your hair stand on end," said the industrious
Mr. Sharp.

"Nonsense," said Mrs. Culpepper, sharply.

"He said it would," said Mr. Sharp, indicating his host with his spoon,
"and he ought--to know-- Who's that kicking me under the table?"

Mr. Culpepper, shivering with wrath and dread, struggled for speech.
"You'd better get home, Bert," he said at last. "You're not yourself.
There's nobody kicking you under the table. You don't know what you are
saying. You've been dreaming things. I never said anything of the
kind."

"Memory's gone," said Mr. Sharp, shaking his head at him. "Clean gone.
Don't you remember--"

"NO!" roared Mr. Culpepper.

Mr. Sharp sat blinking at him, but his misgivings vanished before the
glances of admiring devotion which Miss Garland was sending in his
direction. He construed them rightly not only as a reward, but as an
incentive to further efforts. In the midst of an impressive silence Mrs.
Culpepper collected the plates and, producing a dish of fruit from the
sideboard, placed it upon the table.

"Help yourself, Mr. Sharp," she said, pushing the bottle of port towards
him.

Mr. Sharp complied, having first, after several refusals, put a little
into the ladies' glasses, and a lot on the tablecloth near Mr. Culpepper.
Then, after a satisfying sip or two, he rose with a bland smile and
announced his intention of making a speech.

"But you've made one," said his host, in tones of fierce expostulation.

"That--that was las' night," said Mr. Sharp. "This is to-night--your
birthday."

"Well, we don't want any more," said Mr. Culpepper.

Mr. Sharp hesitated. "It's only his fun," he said, looking round and
raising his glass. "He's afraid I'm going to praise him up--praise him
up. Here's to my old friend, Mr. Culpepper: one of the best. We all
have our--faults, and he has his--has his. Where was I?"

"Sit down," growled Mr. Culpepper.

"Talking about my husband's faults," said hi