“And whose tralaloo were you skipping?” continued John, sternly, without heeding the interruption. “You were tralalooing with the De Sneides of Steenth Street, and you dare not deny it!” “Well!” exclaimed the younger brother, “I don’t see any harm in that. Isn’t the De Sneide family all right?” John Dovetail’s clear, honest eyes blazed with anger. Then with a great effort he controlled himself, and went on in a voice which trembled a little in spite of him. “All right? Herbert Dovetail, do you dare to stand before me and to talk about the De Sneides being all right, when you yourself told me that they concocted from a half-pint of Santa Cruz rum--a half-pint, mind you--a beverage which they served to over one hundred human souls? And did they not add to this crime that of blasphemy, by calling it punch? O Herbert! Do you know what will happen if you keep on in the path which you have chosen? You will become the victim of that awful form of paresis known as the Swelled Head. Already I have noticed symptoms of it in you.” “Oh, pshaw!” cried Herbert, impatiently; “just as soon as a man begins to go into Society a little you say he’s got the Swelled Head. It’s simply because you’re jealous of my success--but what’s the matter, John? Are you ill?” For his brother was leaning against the table, his hand pressed to his heart and his face white with an awful fear. “Merciful heavens!” John exclaimed; “a sure and unfailing sign; the poor boy is stricken already and does not know it. But he shall be saved!” * * * * * One night John persuaded his brother to attend a meeting of the poker class, by telling him that two German gentlemen who had played the game just enough to think they knew it all were going to be present. Herbert accepted the invitation chiefly because he knew he would not meet any one he had borrowed money from, and was given a kindly welcome by his old associates, although, owing to the peculiar nature of his disease, he had failed to recognize several of them when he met them in the street the week before. To be sure, he cast a slight gloom over the company by calling for sherry when the rest of the company were drinking the old stuff; but that was pardoned because of his unfortunate tea-drinking propensities, and the game went on merrily. Something of the old light came back into the boy’s eye as the pile of chips in front of him began to grow apace; and the old glad smile lit up his face once more as Baron Snoozer laid down two big pair only to be confronted by Herbert’s three little fellows. And yet still he called for sherry. But it is always the unexpected that happens. Just as the game broke up the waiter informed John Dovetail that there was a gentleman down-stairs who wished to see him. “Show him up!” cried John, pleasantly, as he cashed in his chips.