?' I asked.

"'Because, as I tried to explain, I had another engagement to keep
immediately after the Meeting--a Conversatsiony, as I put it to
them.'

"'Then perhaps,' said I, 'they took exception to some details of the
costume--for instance, your wearing a silk handkerchief, and crimson
at that, tucked in between your shirt-front and your white
waistcoat.'

"'Is that wrong?' Farrell asked anxiously. 'Maria used to insist on
it. She said it looked neglijay. . . . But I suppose fashions alter
in these little details.' He stood up, removed the handkerchief, and
stowed it in a tail-pocket.

"'That's better,' said I.

"'I'm not above taking a hint,' said he, 'from one as knows.
It'll be harder to get at. . . . But I don't believe, if you'll
excuse me, that any one of these students, as they call themselves,
ever wore an evening suit in his life--unless 'twas a hired one.
No, sir; they came prepared for mischief. They meant to wreck the
Meeting, and had brought along bags of cayenne pepper, and pots of
chemicals to stink us out. They opened one--phew! And I have
another, captured from them, in the pocket of my greatcoat on the
rack, there. I'll show it to you by and by. Luckily our stewards
had wind, early in the afternoon, that some such game was afoot, and
had posted a body of bruisers conveniently, here and there, about the
hall. So in the end they were thrown out, one by one--yes, sir,
ignominiously. It don't add to one's respect for public life,
though.'

"At this point the wine made its appearance, and--if you'll believe
me--it was genuine: Perrier-Jouet, '96. A little while on the ice
might have improved it, but we gave it no time. The oysters arrived
too; but they were tired, I think. Something was wrong with them,
anyhow. . . . Then--as I seem to remember having told you--Farrell
put down three glasses of champagne on an empty stomach."

"You did mention it," said I; "somewhere in the dim and distant
past."

"For my part," went on Jimmy seriously, "my potations were moderate.
After trying the first oyster, I was sober enough to let the others
alone. Then came on the alleged mussel-soup. I tried it and laid
down my spoon. . . . Do you happen to know, Otty, which develops the
quicker typhoid or ptomaine? and if they are, by any chance, mutually
exclusive? Farrell will like to know.

"He swallowed it all. But when he had done he looked full in the
eyes and said in a loud, unfaltering voi