“Murphy,” said Sam, “is the winner. After a contest conducted throughout in accordance with the best traditions of American high kicking, he has upheld the honour of the John B. Pynsent Ex and Imp and retained his title. In the absence of the boss, therefore, who has unfortunately been called away to Philadelphia and so is unable to preside at this meeting, I take much pleasure in presenting him with the guerdon of victory, this handsome dollar bill. Take it, Spike, and in after years, when you are a grey-haired alderman or something, look back to this moment and say to yourself----” Sam stopped, a little hurt. He thought he had been speaking rather well, yet already his audience was walking out on him. Spike Murphy, indeed, was running. “Say to yourself----” “When you are at leisure, Samuel,” observed a voice behind him, “I should be glad of a word with you in my office.” Sam turned. “Oh, hullo, uncle,” he said. He coughed; Mr. Pynsent coughed. “I thought you had gone to Philadelphia,” said Sam. “Indeed?” said Mr. Pynsent. He made no further remark, but proceeded sedately to his room, from which he emerged again a moment later with a patient look of inquiry on his face. “Come here, Sam,” he said. “Who,” he asked, pointing, “is this?” Sam peeped through the doorway and perceived, tilted back in a swivel chair, a long, lean man of repellent aspect. His large feet rested comfortably on the desk, his head hung sideways and his mouth was open. From his mouth, which was of generous proportions, there came a gurgling snore. “Who,” repeated Mr. Pynsent, “is this gentleman?” Sam could not help admiring his uncle’s unerring instinct--that amazing intuition which had led him straight to the realisation that if an uninvited stranger was slumbering in his pet chair, the responsibility must of necessity be his nephew Samuel’s. “Good Lord!” he exclaimed. “I didn’t know he was there.” “A friend of yours?” “It’s Hash.” “I beg your pardon?” “Hash Todhunter, you know, the cook of the _Araminta_. You remember I took a trip a year ago on a tramp steamer? This fellow was the cook. I met him on Broadway this afternoon and gave him lunch. I brought him back here because he wanted to see the place where I work.” “Work?” said Mr. Pynsent, puzzled. “I had no notion he had strayed into your room.” Sam spoke apologetically, but he would have liked to point out that the blame for all these embarrassing occurrences was really Mr. Pynsent’s. If a man creates the impression that he is going to Philadelphia and then does not go, he has only himself to thank for any complications that may ensue. However, this was a technicality with which he did not bother his uncle. “Shall I wake him?” “If you would be so good. And having done so, take him away and store him somewhere and then come back. I have much to say to you.”