"Gently, Tim, gently," gasped Philip, helpless in the hug of this bear; "don't crush me to a jelly." "And Peter!" exclaimed Tim, releasing the baronet to pounce on the doctor, "you fat little man, how splendid you look." Warned by the fate of Philip, the doctor skilfully evaded the embrace of the giant, and Tim was only able to demonstrate his affection by a handgrip. He threw all his soul into this latter, and Peter's face wrinkled up like a monkey's with pain. It was like a fly struggling with an elephant, and Philip, thoroughly roused from his ordinary placidity, laughed till the tears ran down his cheeks. "As soon as you've quite done murdering us, Tim," he said, placing a chair between himself and his too demonstrative friend, "perhaps you'll give your hat and coat to the servant." Tim, who had rushed upstairs without pause, meekly delivered the articles in question to the servant, who stood grinning at the door. Looking on this respectful grin as a liberty, Philip frowned at the poor man, who thereupon vanished, while Tim, overcome by his late exertions, fell so heavily into a chair that the room rocked. "Phew!" he said, wiping his heated brow, "it's hot. I am, anyhow." "That's scarcely to be wondered at," returned Cassim dryly, "considering the enthusiasm of your greeting." "And why not?" retorted Tim, with the broadest of brogues; "am I not glad to see you both?" "Of course; and we are glad to see you," said Peter, examining his crushed hand; "but you needn't maim us for life." Tim roared with laughter in the most unfeeling manner, and Cassim, with a smile, placed his hand on the giant's shoulder. "The same noisy Tim as of old," he said kindly; "you were a large boy, Tim, and now you are a large man. I wouldn't have recognised you, though, save for the brogue. It's as strong as ever." "That's true, anyhow," acknowledged Fletcher placing his huge paw on Philip's slender hand as it rested on his shoulder. "Wasn't I but one term at the school, and that didn't turn it into cockney speaking. Besides, I've been to Cork since." "To freshen up the accent, I suppose," said Grench, with the air of a man who has made a cutting remark; "but a special correspondent should know more than one language." "Especially if the language is Irish," finished Cassim, mischievously. "Get along with you," replied Tim, with a twinkle in his eye; "why, it's a polyglot I am, French, Italian, Spanish, and a touch of Arabic. I can tell lies in any one of them. So here you are, lads. Where's Jack?" "Lord knows!" "He was in South America when I heard last; but I'll go bail he'll turn up soon. What is the time?" "Half-past seven," rejoined Peter, consulting an eminently respectable watch of the family physician species. Tim took out his piece of paper from a pocket-book commensurate to his size, and smoothed it carefully with his huge hand. "Seven's the hour, and Jack's late. I never knew him early yet."