Kun'l is mighty strict, an' kinder queer in his head, an' he ain't no
dead game sport like me an' you, so if you will oblige me, Mr.
Broussard, jes' keep my fightin' chickens in your cellar, an' if the
Kun'l say anything to you, tell him them chickens is yourn. You
wouldn't mind a little thing like that, would you, Mr. Broussard?'
That's what I hee'rd the chaplain say."

"Kettle!" shouted the Colonel, and Mrs. Fortescue remarked candidly:

"You are a big story-teller, Kettle, there isn't a word of truth in all
you have been telling."

"That's so, Miss Betty," announced Kettle, brazenly. "Truth is, Mr.
Broussard ain't got no chickens at all in his cellar, he keeps ducks,
Miss Betty, 'cause the water rises in the cellar all the time."

Kettle's active help did not end with wholesale lying as a means of
helping Broussard. Within a week every time the After-Clap caught
sight of Broussard he would shout for "Bruvver." This, Kettle
carefully explained, was the baby's way of saying Broussard, but it
brought a good many quarters from Broussard's pocket into Kettle's palm.




CHAPTER II

A PRETTY MAID AND A GAMECHICK

The December days sped on, and Christmas was nearing. As the great,