his errand, in a neat speech, in which official dignity
and sympathy were artistically blended. "The young may
die, but the old must die," he reminded Mr. Williamson
as he produced his pencil and tablet. Mr. Williamson gave
a detailed account of his mother's early life, marriages
first and second, and located all her children with
painstaking accuracy. "Left to mourn her loss," Mr. Ducker
wrote.

"And the cause of her death?" Mr. Ducker inquired gently,
"general breaking down of the system, I suppose?" with
his pencil poised in the air.

Mr. Williamson knit his shaggy brows.

"Well, I wouldn't say too much about mother's death if
I were you. Stick to her birth, and the date she joined
the church, and her marriages--they're sure. But mother's
death is a little uncertain, just yet."

A toothless chuckle came from the adjoining room. Mrs.
Williamson had been an interested listener to the
conversation.

"Order my coffin, Ducker, on your way down, but never
mind the flowers, they might not keep," she shrilled
after him as he beat a hasty retreat.

When Mr. Ducker, crestfallen and humiliated, re-entered
the Mercury office a few moments later, he was watched