AT its best, the old Remsen house on West Twelfth Street, wore its ancestral respectability cloaked with gloom. Home though it was to Jacob of that name and possession, he regarded it with distinct distaste as he approached the dull, brown steps leading to the massive door. All that could reasonably be done to furbish it up against the young master’s return, old Connor, Jacob’s inherited man, had faithfully attempted: the house’s face was at least washed, and its linen, so to speak, fresh and clean. But a home long unused becomes musty to a sense deeper than the physical. Entering, young Mr. Remsen felt a chill descend upon his blithe spirit. A _basso profondo_ clock within struck a hollow five. “Hark from the tomb!” observed young Mr. Remsen. “I think I’ll move to the club.” Slow footsteps, sounding from below, dissipated that intention. “No; I can’t do that. I’ve got to stay here and be looked after by old Connor, or forever wound his feelings. That’s the worst of family responsibilities.” The footsteps mounted the basement stairs unevenly and with a suggestion of a stagger in them. “What! Connor taken to drink?” thought Jacob with sinful amusement. “Wonder where he found it. There is hope, still!” The old servitor puffed into sight half carrying, half dragging a huge clothes-basket. “What’s that?” demanded Jacob’: “Your mail, sir.” “Is that all?” asked the other, with a sardonicism which was lost upon Connor’s matter-of-fact mind. “No, sir. There’s another half-basket downstairs.” “Good Lord! What’ll do with it?” “If I may suggest, sir, it ought to be read.” “Sound idea! You read it, Connor.” “Me, sir?” “Certainly. I don’t feel up to it. I’m tired. Strain of travel and all that sort of thing. Besides”—he cast a glance of repulsion upon the white heap—“this suggests work. And you know my principles regarding work.” “Yes, sir.” Connor rubbed his ear painfully. Of course the master was joking. Always a great one for his joke, he was. But— “There’s a special delivery quite at the top, sir, marked ‘Immediate.’ Don’t you think that perhaps—” “Oh, all right: _all_ right! If I’ve got to begin I may as well go through.”