In the afternoon, Whimple having departed to the law courts, where the growth of his business was beginning to take him quite often, William ordered Lucien to keep an eye on the office while he went across the road to study the baseball scores. "The way them Torontos is playin' on the road," he added by way of explanation, "has me goin'! They won five outer the last six games, and they're up against the Buffaloes to-day, and that's a hard team to beat. But Torontos can do it, b'lieve me--two outer three from Buffaloes my guess--have you got any?" "No--I don't care who wins. Baseball doesn't interest me." "What's that! Say, you're the limit; the last--the very last limit. Is there any game whatever that stirs your thick blood?" "Lawn tennis." "Lawn--Oh, cheese it, Lucien, cheese it. First thing I know you'll be tellin' me you play chess too." "Indeed I do. Father is teaching me the game; we play nearly every night." "Halt! who goes there?" William rolled out the words as though the fate of armies depended on them. "The ch-e-eld wonder of the cen-tury," he went on, waving his arms dramatically. "Pass the ch-e-eld wonder and be careful with him." He walked around the bewildered Lucien, pretending to examine his head very closely. "Ah," he said, after the first scrutiny, "now I begin to tumble." His voice was now low-pitched and full of pathos. "Now I'm getting on to the reason for those grey hairs on so young a head." He placed one hand on Lucien's shoulder, and covered his own eyes with the other. "Me boy--m-boy," he murmured brokenly, "you're breaking my heart, my strong manly heart what's held up this many a year--against who knows what. Lucien, Lucien, you're burning the gas in both jets, to say nothing of the escape in the middle. Leave me, boy--leave me to my grief." Lucien brushed William's hand off his shoulder and blurted out angrily, "You're crazy." "Well, I'd sooner be crazy, if I am crazy, than be sane the way you are," returned William loftily. "'Chuck' Epstein says everybody's got a looney streaker some kind; else, he says, they'd all die young. It's a tough outlook for you, Lucien," he added as he departed. Ten minutes later William returned, bringing with him a fine bulldog attached to a stout string. William's eyes were shining, and his lips were parted in a wide grin of delight. "Say," he cried to Lucien, "get on to the pup." Lucien didn't like the looks of the dog, and backed hastily away. "Aw gee, he won't eat you," said William disgustedly. "He's a good one, a prize winner; and the cop says Briscombe the banker owns him." "Well, what are you doing with him?"