"Why,--er--," he set his cane on the ground, leaned on it a moment; looked away, mentally conning over his engagements for the evening; then brought his face around with a gentlemanly look of polite elation; "I should be very delighted, d'you know. Most unexpected pleasure, Sir Thomas." It was a rule of conduct with Ware to do, whenever possible, the thing he saw would give pleasure. He had met Harrison several times, and had tried hard to be sympathetically interested in him as a neighbor--but the baronet's mind was naturally of a speculative turn, and, in spite of his intention to be brotherly, he had to admit to himself that his interest in the contractor-knight had less of a human than an anthropological bearing. As now, he climbed bustlingly into Harrison's auto, Sir William tried hard to persuade himself that he was off to a pleasant neighborly dinner; but all the while he knew in his heart that the impelling motive was merely cold curiosity. He was anxious to see the beast in its native haunts--to note how it lived, and what it ate. Harrison, getting in from the opposite side of car, bumped down, bulging like a balloon in his ostentation. As the automobile slid into motion, Sir Thomas glanced from side to side, watching closely among pedestrians and passing cars for prominent citizens, especially members of Sir William's club. When such an one, in response to Harrison's deliberate hail or a sharp, shrewd "toot" of the contractor's horn, glanced around, Sir Thomas would bring his arm up in a flourishing salute. If the citizen were sufficiently notable and the street-din permitted, there would be a brief volley of social inanities from Harrison, engaging the notable citizen long enough to let the latter see Ware. "A-ow, Mr. Archbishop," the contractor, for instance, would megaphone, through his curved palm, "what's th' good word?" And Archbishop Markham, a man of long social experience, would roar back humorously, though with no more than a passing glance, "A-ow! A-ow!" Sir William, sitting back with his cane between his knees, was too deep in amused contemplation to note the capital that was being made of his presence in Harrison's vigorously-snorting, frequently-tooting car as it progressed down Main Street. The contractor's guest was, in fact, engaged in practising the pronunciation of a certain word he had, after entering the auto, jotted down phonetically in a little leather-covered note-book. When he would get it right, or as nearly right as possible, Sir William would chuckle and slap his leg in immense enjoyment. The word was "Bohunk." CHAPTER VII. A HUMAN HORTICULTURIST.