I guess Jarvis was used to livin' in a place like that, though. He didn't stop to tell what anything cost, or show off any of the bric-a-brac. He just led the way through seven or eight parlors and palm-rooms, until we fetched up in the hole he'd fixed up to exercise in. It was about three times as big as the Studio here, and if there was anything missing from the outfit I couldn't have told what it was--flyin'-rings, bars, rowin'-machine, punchin'-bags, dumb-bells--say! with a secretary and a few wall mottos, there was the makin's of a Y. M. C. A. branch right on the ground. Then there was dressin'-rooms, a shower bath, and a tiled plunge tank like they have in these Turkish places. "Lucky you don't go in strong for exercise," says I. "If you did, I s'pose you'd fix up Madison Square Garden?" "That architect was an ass," says Jarvis; "but mother told him to go ahead. Fancy he thought I was a Sandow, you know." Well, we gets into our gym. clothes, picks out a set of kid pillows, and had just stepped out on the rubber for a little warmin' up, when in sails a fluff delegation. There was a fat old one, that looked as though she might be mother; a slim baby-eyed one, that any piker would have played for sister; and another, that I couldn't place at all. She wasn't a Fifth-ave. girl--you could tell that by the way she wore her hair bunched down on the nape of her neck--but it was a cinch she wasn't any poor relation. [Illustration: Mother, sister, and Lady Evelyn.] "Lost their way goin' to the matinee, eh?" says I. Jarvis, he gets pink clear down to his collarbone. "I beg pardon, professor," says he. "It's only mother and the girls. I'll send them off." "That's right; shoo 'em," says I. But mother wouldn't shoo any more'n a trolley-car. "Now, don't be silly about it, Jarvis, dear," says she. "You know how Lady Evelyn dotes on athletics, and how your sister and I do, too. So we're just going to stay and watch you." "Oh, come, mother," says Jarvis; "it isn't just the thing, you know." "Ask Lady Evelyn," says mother. "Why, she's one of the patronesses of the Oldwich Cricket Club, and pours tea for the young men at their games. Now, go ahead, Jarvis; there's a dear." He looks at me for a tip, and that gives him a hunch. "But the professor--" says he. "Oh, Professor McCabe doesn't mind us a bit; do you now, professor?" says sister, buttin' in, real coy and giddy. "I can stand it if you can," says I, and she tips me a goo-goo smile that was all to the candied violets. "There!" says the mother. "Now go right on as though we were not here at all. But remember not to be too rough, Jarvis, dear."