When Fred and Oliver had closed their bedroom door for the night, the guests having departed and all the regular boarders being supposedly secure in their beds (Fred without much difficulty had persuaded Oliver to share his own bed over night), there came a knock at Fred's door, and the irrepressible Irishman stalked in. He had removed his vest, high collar, and shoes, and had the air and look of an athlete. The marvellous skill of the acrobat still occupied his mind. "Don't disturb yourself, my dear Stone, but me deloightful conversation with yer friend, Mr. Horn, was interrupted by that wild beast of a Waller, and I wanted to finish it. I am quite sure I can do it--the trick I was telling ye of. I've been practizing in me room. It's as easy as rolling off a jaunting car." "No, Mac, old man. Go to bed again," pleaded Fred. "Not till I show ye, me boy, one of the most beautiful feats of agility--" "Come off, Mac, I say," cried Fred, catching the Irishman around the waist. "I'll come nothing! Unhand me, gentlemen, or by the--" and tearing himself free McFudd threw a hand-spring with the ease of a professional, toppled, for a moment, his feet in the air, scraped along the whitewashed wall with his heels, and sweeping the basins and pitchers filled with water from the wash-stand measured his length on the floor. Then came the crash of broken china, a deluge of water, and Fred and Oliver began catching up sponges and towels to stay the flood. A minute later a man in a long gray beard and longer night-robe--one of the regular boarders--bounded up the stairs two steps at a time and dashed through Fred's open door. "By thunder, boys!" he cried, "I don't mind how much noise you make, rather like it; but what the devil are you trying to drown us out for? Wife is soaking--it's puddling down on our bed." By this time every door had been flung open, and the room was filled with half-dressed men. "It's that lunatic, McFudd. He's been to the circus and thinks he's Martello," cried Fred, pointing to the prostrate Irishman with the sponge which he had been squeezing out in the coal-scuttle. "Or the clown," remarked Waller, stooping over McFudd, who was now holding his sides and roaring with laughter. Long after Fred had fallen asleep, Oliver lay awake thinking of the night's pleasure. He had been very, very happy--happier than he had been for many months. The shouts of approval on his election to membership, the rounds of applause that had followed his rendering of the simple negro melodies, resounded in his ears, and the joy of it all still tingled through his veins. This first triumph of his life had brought with it a certain confidence in himself--a new feeling of self-reliance--of being able to hold his own among men, something he had never experienced before. This made it all the more exhilarating. And the company!