“Of course I shan't hit him,” indignantly. “What do you think I am? But he must promise not to mention--er--Miss Fosdick's name again.” “Better promise, Is,” suggested Laban. Issachar's mouth opened, but no promise came forth. “Promise be darned!” he yelled furiously. “Mention her name! I'll mention any name I set out to, and no Italyun Portygee is goin' to stop me, neither.” Albert glanced about the office. By the wall stood two brimming pails of water, brought in by Mr. Price for floor-washing purposes. He lifted one of the pails. “If you don't promise I'll duck you,” he declared. “Let go of me, Keeler, I mean it.” “Careful, Al, careful,” said Mr. Keeler. “Better promise, Is.” “Promise nawthin'! Fosdick! What in time do I care for Fosdicks, Madelines or Padelines or Dandelions or--” His sentence stopped just there. The remainder of it was washed back and down his throat by the deluge from the bucket. Overcome by shock and surprise, Mr. Price leaned back against the wall and slid slowly down that wall until he reclined in a sitting posture, upon the floor. “Crimustee,” he gasped, as soon as he could articulate, “I'm--awk--I'm drownded.” Albert put down the empty bucket and picked up the full one. “Promise,” he said again. Laban Keeler rubbed his chin. “I'd promise if I was you, Is,” he said. “You're some subject to rheumatism, you know.” Issachar, sitting in a spreading puddle, looked damply upward at the remaining bucket. “By crimustee--” he began. Albert drew the bucket backward; the water dripped from its lower brim. “I--I--darn ye, I promise!” shouted Issachar. Albert put down the bucket and walked back to his desk. Laban watched him curiously, smiling just a little. Then he turned to Mr. Price, who was scrambling to his feet. “Better get your mop and swab up here, Is,” he said. “Cap'n Lote'll be in 'most any minute.” When Captain Zelotes did return to the office, Issachar was industriously sweeping out, Albert was hard at work at the books, and Laban was still rubbing his chin and smiling at nothing in particular. The next day Albert and Issachar made it up. Albert apologized. “I'm sorry, Issy,” he said. “I shouldn't have done it, but you made me mad. I have a--rather mean temper, I'm afraid. Forgive me, will you?” He held out his hand, and Issachar, after a momentary hesitation, took it. “I forgive you this time, Al,” he said solemnly, “but don't never do nothin' like it again, will ye? When I went home for dinner yesterday noon I give you my word my clothes was kind of dampish even then. If it hadn't been nice warm sunshine and I was out doors and dried off considerable I'd a had to change everything, underclothes and all, and 'tain't but the middle of the week yet.”