“Humph! Seems a roundabout way of gettin' a thing, don't it? Why don't you telegraph to Heman and ask him to fix it for you? Save time.” This remark was received in horrified silence. Tad Simpson was the first to recover. “Cap'n,” he said, “you ain't met Mr. Atkins yet. When you do, you'll feel same as the rest of us. He's comin' home next week; then you'll see.” A part at least of Mr. Simpson's prophecy proved true. The Honorable Atkins did come to Bayport the following week, accompanied by his little daughter Alicia, the housekeeper, and the Atkins servants. The Honorable and his daughter had been, since the adjournment of Congress, on a pleasure trip to the Yosemite and Yellowstone Park, and now they were to remain in the mansion on the hill for some time. The big house was opened, the stone urns burst into refulgent bloom, the iron dogs were refreshed with a coat of black paint, and the big iron gate was swung wide. Bayport sat up and took notice. Angeline Phinney was in her glory. The meeting between Captain Cy and Mr. Atkins took place the morning after the latter's return. The captain and his two chums had been inspecting the progress made by the carpenters and were leaning over the new fence, then just erected, but not yet painted. Down the gravel walk of the mansion across the road came strolling its owner, silk-hatted, side-whiskered, benignant. “Godfrey!” exclaimed Asaph. “There's Heman. See him, Whit?” “Yup, I see him. Seems to be headin' this way.” “I--I do believe he's comin' across,” whispered Mr. Bangs. “Yes, he is. He's real everyday, Cy. HE won't mind if you ain't dressed up.” “Won't he? That's comfortin'. Well, I'll do the best I can without stimulants, as the doctor says. If you hear my knees rattle just nudge me, will you, Bailey?” Mr. Tidditt removed his hat. Bailey touched his. Captain Cy looked provokingly indifferent; he even whistled. “Good mornin', Mr. Atkins,” hailed the town clerk, raising his voice because of the whistle. “I'm proud to see you back among us, sir. Hope you and Alicia had a nice time out West. How is she--pretty smart?” Mr. Atkins smiled a bland, congressional smile. He approached the group by the fence and extended his hand. “Ah, Asaph!” he said; “it is you then? I thought so. And Bailey, too. It is certainly delightful to see you both again. Yes, my daughter is well, I thank you. She, like her father, is glad to be back in the old home nest after the round of hotel life and gayety which we have--er--recently undergone. Yes.” “Mr. Atkins,” said Bailey, glancing nervously at Captain Cy, who had stopped whistling and was regarding the Atkins hat and whiskers with an interested air, “I want to make you acquainted with your new neighbor. You used to know him when you was a boy, but--but--er--Mr. Atkins, this is Captain Cyrus Whittaker. Cy, this is Congressman Atkins. You've heard us speak of him.” The great man started.