It must be confessed that the generosity of Tompkins in forgiving the twins for their second victory over him was very poorly appreciated. A dog that merely barks frightens only those who are afraid of barking. The twins, while holding bites in wholesome dread, were brave regarding barks; and collectively they looked upon Tompkins as a barker. Individually, their opinions differed. Donald had his doubts as to the advisability of pressing Tompkins farther. Duncan, however, in whom the love of mischief was far stronger than discretion, argued that Tommy was a bluffer, that he was only waiting for his chance to get back at them, and that the team that takes the offensive usually wins the game. So Donald yielded to plausible arguments, and the Peck solidarity remained unbroken. As a concession to the demand for some distinguishing token, however, they began to wear different-colored neckties, Donald blue, Duncan red. Now it happened on a certain Saturday night that Tompkins had a part in the debate at the Laurel Leaf on that favorite subject for debating societies,—the advisability of choosing United States senators by popular vote. The meeting was an open one, and Donald, impelled as much by natural taste as by curiosity to witness his neighbor’s performance, was among the spectators. Duncan, to whom debate smacked too much of the recitation room to be attractive, even with Tommy as a performer, preferred to stay at home. Tompkins had the opening. His task was to show that the present system was a failure. He was just about to begin, when he noticed that the volume of Bryce’s “American Commonwealth,” from which he intended to quote a clincher to his argument, was not among his books of reference. He walked down to Donald and whispered a few words in his ear, whereat the blue-necktied twin nodded, took up his hat, and disappeared. “Tommy’s had to send me back for one of his books,” said Donald, a minute or two later, putting his head in at the Peck door. “He’s just going to start off.” “Does he look rattled?” asked Duncan. “If I knew he was going to slump, I’d go over.” “I guess there’s no danger of that,” replied Donald, bringing the book nearer the light. “I hope I’ve got the right volume.” “How many volumes are there?” demanded Duncan, suddenly. “Two.” “Bring the other, then, while I change my tie!” commanded Duncan, jumping up and pulling vigorously at his necktie. Donald stared. “It’s the best thing yet,” chuckled Duncan. “Get a hustle on, there’s no time to lose.” Donald, with the puzzled expression still on his face, obediently returned to Tompkins’s room and brought the other volume. “I told him I’d get him Number Two,” he said doubtfully. “I can’t take the wrong one.” “No, but I can,” declared Duncan, giving the last touch to his blue cravat, which was an exact duplicate of his brother’s. “How long has he to spout?” “Seven minutes.”