Mr. Clapper, not a gentleman in other respects of exceptional brilliancy, possessed one quality that popularity-seekers might have envied him: the ability to explode on the slightest provocation into a laugh instinct with all the characteristics of genuine delight. “Give and take,” observed the maternal Sellars, so soon as Mr. Clapper's roar had died away; “that's what you've got to do when you're married.” “Give a deal more than you bargained for and take what you don't want--that sums it up,” came the bitter voice of the unseen. “Oh, do be quiet, Joe,” advised the stout young lady, from which I concluded she had once been the lean young lady. “You talk enough for a man.” “Can't I open my mouth?” demanded the indignant oracle. “You look less foolish when you keep it shut,” returned the stout young lady. “We'll show them how to get on,” observed the Lady 'Ortensia to her bridegroom, with a smile. Mr. Clapper responded with a gurgle. “When me and the old girl there fixed things up,” said Uncle Gutton, “we didn't talk no nonsense, and we didn't start with no misunderstandings. 'I'm not a duke,' I says--” “Had she been mistaking you for one?” enquired Minikin. Mr. Clapper commented, not tactfully, but with appreciative laugh. I feared for a moment lest Uncle Gutton's little eyes should leave his head. “Not being a natural-born, one-eyed fool,” replied Uncle Gutton, glaring at the unabashed Minikin, “she did not. 'I'm not a duke,' I says, and _she_ had sense enough to know as I was talking sarcastic like. 'I'm not offering you a life of luxury and ease. I'm offering you myself, just what you see, and nothing more.' “She took it?” asked Minikin, who was mopping up his gravy with his bread. “She accepted me, sir,” returned Uncle Gutton, in a voice that would have awed any one but Minikin. “Can you give me any good reason for her not doing so?” “No need to get mad with me,” explained Minikin. “I'm not blaming the poor woman. We all have our moments of despair.” The unfortunate Clapper again exploded. Uncle Gutton rose to his feet. The ready Jarman saved the situation. “'Ear! 'ear!” cried Jarman, banging the table with the handles of two knives. “Silence for Uncle Gutton! 'E's going to propose a toast. 'Ear, 'ear!” Mrs. Clapper, seconding his efforts, the whole table broke into applause. “What, as a matter of fact, I did get up to say--” began Uncle Gutton. “Good old Uncle Gutton!” persisted the determined Jarman. “Bride and bridegroom--long life to 'em!” Uncle Sutton, evidently pleased, allowed his indignation against Minikin to evaporate. “Well,” said Uncle Gutton, “if you think I'm the one to do it--” The response was unmistakable. In our enthusiasm we broke two glasses and upset a cruet; a small, thin lady was unfortunate enough to shed her chignon. Thus encouraged, Uncle Sutton launched himself upon his task. Personally, I should have been better pleased had Fate not interposed to assign to him the duty.