“Well, I spotted you from the first,” said Custer, “though I ain't seen you since we were in Scott's Camp together. That's ten years ago. You're lookin' at HIM,” he continued, following the consul's wandering eye. “Well, it's about him that I came to see you. This yer's a McHulish--a genuine McHulish!” He paused, as if to give effect to this statement. But the name apparently offered no thrilling suggestion to the consul, who regarded the young man closely for further explanation. He was a fair-faced youth of about twenty years, with pale reddish-brown eyes, dark hair reddish at the roots, and a singular white and pink waxiness of oval cheek, which, however, narrowed suddenly at the angle of the jaw, and fell away with the retreating chin. “Yes,” continued Custer; “I oughter say the ONLY McHulish. He is the direct heir--and of royal descent! He's one of them McHulishes whose name in them old history times was enough to whoop up the boys and make 'em paint the town red. A regular campaign boomer--the old McHulish was. Stump speeches and brass-bands warn't in it with the boys when HE was around. They'd go their bottom dollar and last cartridge--if they'd had cartridges in them days--on him. That was the regular McHulish gait. And Malcolm there's the last of 'em--got the same style of features, too.” Ludicrous as the situation was, it struck the consul dimly, as through fog and darkness, that the features of the young man were not unfamiliar, and indeed had looked out upon him dimly and vaguely at various times, from various historic canvases. It was the face of complacent fatuity, incompetency, and inconstancy, which had dragged down strength, competency, and constancy to its own idiotic fate and levels,--a face for whose weaknesses valor and beauty had not only sacrificed themselves, but made things equally unpleasant to a great many minor virtues. Nevertheless, the consul, with an amused sense of its ridiculous incongruity to the grim Scottish Sabbath procession in the street, and the fog-bound volumes of admiralty law in the room, smiled affably. “Of course our young friend has no desire to test the magic of his name here, in these degenerate days.” “No,” said Custer complacently; “though between you and me, old man, there's always no tellin' what might turn up over in this yer monarchy. Things of course are different over our way. But jest now Malcolm will be satisfied to take the title and property to which he's rightful heir.”