“The State of Washington needn’t ever get nervous over the prospect of losing me,” said the Tuttle person, biting off the end of his cigar. I gathered at once that the Americans have actually named one of our colonies “Washington” after the rebel George Washington, though one would have thought that the indelicacy of this would have been only too apparent. But, then, I recalled, as well, the city where their so-called parliament assembles, Washington, D. C. Doubtless the initials indicate that it was named in “honour” of another member of this notorious family. I could not but reflect how shocked our King would be to learn of this effrontery. Cousin Egbert, who had been for some moments moving his lips without sound, here spoke: “I’m going to try it myself,” he said. “Here, Charley, veesky-soda! He made me right off,” he continued as the waiter disappeared. “Say, Jeff, I bet I could have learned a lot of this language if I’d had some one like you around.” “Well, it took me some time to get the accent,” replied the other with a modesty which I could detect was assumed. More acutely than ever was I conscious of a psychic warning to separate these two, and I resolved to act upon it with the utmost diplomacy. The third whiskey and soda was served us. “Three rousing cheers!” said Cousin Egbert. “Here’s looking at you!” said the other, and I drank. When my glass was drained I arose briskly and said: “I think we should be getting along now, sir, if Mr. Tuttle will be good enough to excuse us.” They both stared at me. “Yes, sir--I fancy not, sir,” said Cousin Egbert. “Stop your kidding, you fat rascal!” said the other. “Old Bill means all right,” said Cousin Egbert, “so don’t let him irritate you. Bill’s our new hired man. He’s all right--just let him talk along.” “Can’t he talk setting down?” asked the other. “Does he have to stand up every time he talks? Ain’t that a good chair?” he demanded of me. “Here, take mine,” and to my great embarrassment he arose and offered me his chair in such a manner that I felt moved to accept it. Thereupon he took the chair I had vacated and beamed upon us, “Now that we’re all home-folks, together once more, I would suggest a bit of refreshment. Boy, veesky-soda!” “I fancy so, sir,” said Cousin Egbert, dreamily contemplating me as the order was served. I was conscious even then that he seemed to be studying my attire with a critical eye, and indeed he remarked as if to himself: “What a coat!” I was rather shocked by this, for my suit was quite a decent lounge-suit that had become too snug for the Honourable George some two years before. Yet something warned me to ignore the comment. “Three rousing cheers!” he said as the drink was served. “Here’s looking at you!” said the Tuttle person.