The old _Tub_ worried her way across the ocean, and reached the bar at Liverpool just in time to be too late to cross it that night. Word was passed along that a tender would come out from Liverpool for us, which was not a very cheering prospect, as we would have two hours’ sail at least in what was practically an open boat. Finally the tender came alongside, and the baggage was dumped down upon it. All of us gathered together ready to leave _The Tub_. Mr. Kensington, with his closely-veiled wife hanging on his arm, was receiving the thanks and congratulations of the “dragon.” The fifteen girls were all around her. Before any one started down the sloping gangway plank, however, two policemen, accompanied by a woman, hurried up on board _The Tub_. “Now, madam,” said the policeman, “is he here?” We saw that trouble was coming, and everybody looked at everybody else. “Is he here?” cried the woman excitedly; “there he stands, the villain. Oh, you villain, you scoundrel, you _mean_ rascal, to leave me, as you thought, penniless in New York, and desert your own wife and family for that—that creature!” We all looked at Kensington, and his face was greenish-pale. The heavily veiled woman shrunk behind him and the policeman tried to make the true wife keep quiet. “Is your name Braughton?” Kensington did not answer. His eyes were riveted on his wife. “In the name of God,” he cried aghast, “how did _you_ come here?” “How did I come here,” she shrieked. “Oh, you thought you slipped away nicely, didn’t you? But you forgot that the _Clipper_ left the next day, and I’ve been here two days waiting for you. You little thought when you deserted me and my children in New York that we would be here to confront you at Liverpool.” “Come, come.” said the policeman, “there’s no use of this. I am afraid you will have to come with us, sir.” They took him in charge, and the irate wife then turned like a tigress on the heavily veiled woman who was with him. “No wonder you are ashamed to show your face,” she cried. “Come, come,” said the policeman, “come, come.” And they managed to induce her to say no more. “Madam,” said young Montague to the speechless ‘dragon,’ “I want to ask your permission to allow me to carry Miss Fleming’s hand- baggage ashore.” “How dare you speak to me, sir?” she answered. “Because,” he said, in a low voice, “I thought perhaps you wouldn’t like an account of this affair to go to the Boston newspapers. I’m a newspaper man, you see,” he added, with unblushing mendacity. Then, turning to Miss Fleming, he said, “Won’t you allow me to carry this for you?” Miss Fleming surrendered the natty little handbag she had with her, and smiled. The “dragon” made no objection. A Society For The Reformation Of Poker Players.