"'Found it under the carpet, did they? Oh, I'm so glad! I never shall forget that night, Sam. They wanted me to empty my pockets, and I couldn't. I didn't care what they thought. Oh, Sam, it was awful! You didn't think I had taken it, did you?' "'No, old man, I didn't, and that's square. But why didn't you unload with the others?' "Tim craned his head toward Miss Ann's door, listened intently for a moment, and said: "'I had one of those little fat quail in my coat-tail pocket; they passed me two. Ann used to love them, and I knew you wouldn't mind; and I lied about it when I gave it to her and told her you sent it. Don't tell her, please.'" As Mac finished, a log which had perhaps leaned too far forward in its effort to listen, lost its balance and rolled over on the hearth, sending a shower of astonished sparks scurrying up the chimney. Marny bent forward and sent it back into place with his foot. Wharton pushed back his chair and without a word reached for his coat; so did Pitkin and the others. The story had evidently made a deep impression on them, so much so that Marny didn't speak to Pitkin or Wharton until they reached the Square, and then only to say: "Regular old trump, that book-keeper--wasn't he?" Boggs still sat hunched up in his chair. He was less emotional than dear old Marny, but his heart was in the right place all the same. "Bully story, Mac--one of your best. Heard something like that before. Heard it in two or three ways--as a peach in a Bishop's pocket; as a snuff-box in an admiral's. You're a daisy, Mac, for warming over club chestnuts. But that's all right. Now, what was the surprise Collins had up his sleeve when he got up to make his speech that night?" "Why, Tim's appointment as book-keeper of the new company. His refusal to be searched of course knocked that in the head. He's treasurer now; has a big slice of the stock that Sam gave him for luck; has lost all his wrinkles, looks ten years younger, and is getting a new crop of hair. Miss Ann has got over her cough and is spry as a kitten--spryer. They are all out at the mine; she keeps house for them both." PART II _Wherein the Gentle Art of Dining is Variously Described._ "Move back, Lonnegan, and let me get at it!" cried MacWhirter the next afternoon. "You jab a fire as if it were something you wanted to kill! Coddle it a little, like this," and Mac laid the warm cheeks of two logs together and a sputtering of hot kisses filled the hearth. "Don't call him 'Lonnegan,' Mac, in that rude and boisterous way," expostulated Boggs. "It jars on his Royal Highness's finer sensibilities. Say 'Mr. Lonnegan, will you have the kindness to remove your beautiful and well-groomed and fashionable carcass until I can add a stick or two to my fire?' Lonnegan has been in society--out every night this week, I hear." Mac replaced the tongs and straightened his back, his face turned toward Lonnegan.