Donald drew in his breath but said nothing. Had it not been true, how he would have enjoyed punching Dill's head! “You get off to the Orient this week, I suppose,” went on Dillingham. “Lucky devil! Decker asked me to go along. If it hadn't been for the paternal grandparent I'd have gone in a minute, but he put his foot down. When do you sail?” “I've given up the trip. I'm going to buy a farm out near the Wickers', and get down to work.” Dillingham whistled incredulously: “Yes, I see you doing it! You are counting on pulling off the Derby, I suppose?” “No, I'm not going to enter my horse.” “What! Why Lickety-Split could win that race in a walk. All the crowd say you stand to win. Here, this is the shanty; at least it's where he used to live.” A bright light streamed from the uncurtained window of a small cottage, revealing a family group within. A fat, smiling woman in curl papers, with a baby in her arms, and six youngsters in varying stages of Sabbath cleanliness, hung upon the words of a man who sat in a large, plush self-rocker, and read from a highly colored picture book. In the head of the family Dillingham recognized Richard Sheeley, ex-pugilist, and present proprietor of the Cant-Pass-It. “Well, if it ain't Mr. Dillingham!” exclaimed Sheeley, throwing open the door in answer to their knock. “Soaked through, ain't you? Little somethin' to warm you up? Sure. Just come in and wait 'til I git on my shoes and find an umbrella and I'll go over with you. Don't keep a drop here,” he added in a whisper, behind a hand so large that he evidently regarded it as sound proof. “Missus won't stand fer it, 'count of the kids, eh?” “That's him, Ma, the one I was telling you about,” Richard Sheeley, Jr.,--yclept “Skeeter”--tugged at his mother's sleeve, nodding his head at Donald, who was making love to the smallest and shyest of the daughters of the house. “She ain't as meek as she looks!” Mrs. Sheeley was saying, as she tried to get the child from behind her skirts. “She's got her popper's temper along with his smartness. They ain't either one of them got a grain of sense when they git mad. I never seen a child with such a temper, did you, Popper?” But Sheeley did not heed her; he was busy doing the honors to one he evidently considered an honored guest. “Sit right down here, Mr. Dillingham, lemme take the book out of the chair. I was just reading to the Missus and the kids a book Skeeter brought home from Sunday School, all about Dan'l and the lions' den. Tall tale that, Mr. Dillingham. About one of the raciest animal articles I ever come acrost.” When they were ready to go, Mrs. Sheeley followed them anxiously to the door. “It's a awful stormy night, Popper; you ain't going to stay, are you?”