"Oh, land o' my fathers!" exclaimed Mrs. Trapes, "what's the matter--what you got there? Who are ye?" "The matter, ma'am," answered Joe, for by this time the Old Un had cursed himself quite breathless, "the matter's contrariness; what I 'ave under my arm, ma'am, is a old reprobate, and I'm Joe Madden, ma'am, come to take tea with my--come, as you might say, a visiting to Mr. Geoffrey; p'raps you'll--" "Don't 'eed 'im, ma'am--never 'eed 'im!" croaked the Old Un, who had regained his wind by now. "'E 's a perishin' pork pig, that's wot 'e is. Joe, you blighter, put me down. It's me as the Guv expects--it's me as 'as come a-visitin'--Joe, put me down, you perisher. Joe's only a hoaf, ma'am, a nass, ma'am. Joe ain't used to perlite serciety, Joe don't know nothin'--put me down, Joe, like a good lad!" At this juncture Ravenslee appeared, whereupon Joe, having reached the topmost landing, set the old man upon his natty feet and fell to straightening his smart clothes with hands big but gentle. "Sir," explained Joe, answering Ravenslee's smiling look, "Old Sin an' Sorrer here wouldn't walk up, which forced me to--" But now the Old Un, feeling himself again, cut in on his own account. "Ma'am," said he, flourishing off his hat to Mrs. Trapes, "'ere 's me an' me lad Joe come to tea--my best respex an' greetin's, ma'am. How do, Guv? I do 'ope as you ain't forgot th' cake." "Oh, we've plenty of cake, Old Un!" laughed Ravenslee. "An' water cress an' jam!" nodded Mrs. Trapes. "Guv," said the old man, gripping Ravenslee's hand, "God bless ye for a true man an' a noble sport. Ma'am, you're a angel! Jam, ma'am--you're a nymp'--you're two nymp's-- "'I oft would cast a rovin' eye Ere these white 'airs I grew, ma'am, To see a 'andsome nymp' go by, But none s' fair as you, ma'am.' "An' there's me hand on it, ma'am." "My land!" ejaculated Mrs. Trapes, staring; then all at once she laughed, a strange laugh that came and went again immediately, yet left her features a little less grim than usual, as, reaching out, she grasped the old man's feeble hand. "I guess you're only bein' p'lite," said she, "but jest for that you're sure goin' t' eat as much cake an' jam as your small insides can hold." So saying, she led the way into her small and very neat domain and ushered them into the bright little parlour where the Spider sat already enthroned in that armchair whereon sunflowers rioted. Like the chair, the Spider was somewhat exotic as to socks and tie, and he seemed a trifle irked by stiff cuffs and collar as he sat staring at the green and yellow tablecloth and doing his best not to tread upon the pink hearthrug. "Joe," said Ravenslee, "this is Spider Connolly, who knocked out Larry McKinnon at San Francisco last year in the sixty-ninth. Spider, I want you to shake hands with--"