It was a jovial meal. The conversation waxed merrier and merrier. The general grew younger with every mouthful and Bartlett more and more genial. He forgot that he was kidnapping a famous young financier, and told all his most enjoyable stories with the skill of many repetitions. When they had finished, no one for a while made any motion to clear up the table preparatory to leaving. Billy, with her chin on her hand, thoughtfully gathered up the crumbs still on her plate and transferred them to her mouth. Henrietta leaned back in her chair, her hands clasped behind her head, gazing dreamily at the flickering lamp. Bartlett and the general smoked in contented silence and the Watermelon rolled a cigarette with his long, thin fingers, his old clay pipe discarded with his rags. Alphonse was already asleep. A snore from his corner drew their attention. The Watermelon licked his cigarette paper and glanced at Billy. "He’s got his nerve," said he, putting the cigarette in his mouth and reaching for a match. "I don’t think that any of us have been lacking in nerve to-night," said the general, with no little pride. "You’re dead game sports," admitted the Watermelon. "Let’s stay all night." "It’s morning already," said Henrietta. "We have stayed all night." "Let’s sleep here," said the Watermelon. "We can leave early." "Er—er—are there any beds?" asked the general. "Father, father," cried Henrietta, "you are backsliding." The general protested, immensely flattered. "Father used to say if you didn’t backslide once in a while, goodness wouldn’t be goodness but a habit," said the Watermelon. The general always looked back on that night and the week that followed with wonder, thankfulness and pride. When the Watermelon, waiting for no further consent, picked up the lamp and started to investigate the bedrooms, the general was the first to follow him. They found two bedrooms on the ground floor, and though the beds only had mattresses and pillows on them, even the Watermelon did not suggest a search for sheets and pillow-cases. The girls took one room, the men the other. Alphonse was aroused enough to be dragged to the haircloth sofa in the kitchen, from which he kept falling during the course of the night with dull thuds that woke no one but himself.