s precisely so, George. Does the name McQuiggan mean anything
to you?"

"Don' mean nothin' at-tall to me, Doctah."

"You got away from St. Jo in time, then. Otherwise you might have met
the McQuiggan family, and never been the same afterward."

"Ef you don' stop youah feet a-fidgittin', Boss," interpolated the
neighboring bootblack, addressing the green-hatted man in aggrieved
tones, "I cain't do no good wif this job."

"McQuiggan was the name," continued the volunteer biographer. "The best
you could say of the McQuiggans, George, was that one wasn't much
cusseder than the others, because he couldn't be. Human nature has its
limitations, George."

"It suttinly have, suh."

"But if you had to allow a shade to any of 'em, it would probably have
gone to the oldest brother, L.P. McQuiggan. Barring a scorpion I once
sat down on while in swimming, he was the worst outrage upon the scheme
of creation ever perpetrated by a short-sighted Providence."

"Get out of that chair!"

The little man had shot from his own and was dancing upon the pavement.

"What for?" Dr. Surtaine's tone was that of inquiring innocence.

"To have your fat head knocked off."

With impressive agility for one of his size and years, the challenged
one descended. He advanced, "squared," and suddenly held out a muscular
and plump hand.

"Hullo, Elpy."

"Huh?"

The other glared at him, baleful and baffled.

"Hullo, I said. Don't you know me?"

"No, I don't. Neither will your own family after I get through with
you."

"Come off, Elpy; come off. I licked you once in the old days, and I
guess I could do it now, but I don't want to. Come and have a drink with
old Andy."

"Andy? Andy the Spieler? Andy Certain?"

"Dr. L. Andre Surtaine, at your service. _Now_, will you shake?"

Still surly, Mr. McQuiggan hung back. "What about that roast?" he
demanded.

"Wasn't sure of you. Twenty years is a long time. But I knew if it was
you you'd want to fight, and I knew if you didn't want to fight it
wasn't you. I'll buy you one in honor of the best little city west of
the Mississip, and the best bunch of sports that ever came out of it,
the McQuiggans of St. Jo, Missouri. Does that go?"

"It goes," replied the representative of the family concisely.

Across the cafe table Dr. Surtaine contemplated his old acquaintance
with friendly interest.

"The same old scrappy Elpy," he observed. "What's happened to you, since
you used to itinerate with the