“Give a mule the most astute jockey on earth and he is no match for the thorough-bred horse. Give the mongrel cur the craftiest huntsman, he can neither find nor hold as the hound of pure blood. Give the man of inferior race every advantage that education and culture can furnish, he still remains inferior to the man of the purer, better race and blood. The superiority of the latter lies in the inherent qualities of his race,” replied Chapman, while a sinister smile distorted his thin scarlet lips, and a baleful light flashed from his black eyes. For a moment he waited to see the effect of his last speech, then turned and glided from the Manager’s office. IX. Arabella Chapman was the neatest of housekeepers. The sitting room of the home of David Chapman was a pattern of tidiness and cleanliness, the furniture was rubbed and polished until it shone like glass, every picture, rug and curtain was as speckless as newly fallen snow. Miss Arabella seemed especially created to form the central figure of her surroundings, as seated on a low rocking chair, she plied a neat little needle on some nice little article of lace-work. No tiny, tidy wren was ever brighter and more chipper in its shining little brass cage than was Miss Arabella, as, bird-like, she peeped at her brother, when he drew the cover from the violoncello which stood in one corner of the room. “I am glad to see that you intend passing the evening at home, David,” piped up the ancient maiden. “It has really been so long since we had any music that I am delighted to see you uncover your violoncello,” continued the twin sister of David Chapman. “Well, Arabella, the fact is that in my many excursions during the last year I have collected such a quantity of food for thought, that, like a well filled camel I feel it necessary to pause and chew the cud awhile,” replied David arranging some sheets of music on a stand and passing his hand lovingly over the chords of the instrument that he held. “I must admit that I should prefer to remain hungry mentally forever if to procure food for thought it were necessary to don the apparel of a tramp, and prowl around at all hours of the night, seeking, doubtless, in the vilest dens, among the lowest vagabonds for mental sustenance,” chirped Arabella sharply, prodding her needlework spitefully. “Perhaps, my good sister, you will never quite understand that some men are born investigators. By nature they are led to investigate any phenomenon that presents itself.” “Then I insist that it is a most unfortunate thing for one so born,” pecked Miss Arabella with the sharpness of a quarrelsome English sparrow. “It causes one to make a Paul Pry of himself and wander about in a very questionable manner at unseemly hours, to the injury of both health and reputation. When one of your age, David, is so endowed by nature it is a positive misfortune.”