respectfully," but she had finally let it stand,
evidently convinced that the plain signature, without
preface, savored of an intimacy denied by the context.

"`DEAR SIR'!" repeated Norbert, between set
teeth. "`IMPOSSIBLE TO ALLOW YOU TO CALL any more'!"
These and other terms of his dismissal recurred to
him during the morning, and ever and anon he
looked up from his desk, his lips moving to the tune
of those horrid phrases, and stared out at the street.
Basilisk glaring this, with no Christian softness in it,
not even when it fell upon his own grandfather,
sitting among the sages within easy eye-shot from
the big window at Norbert's elbow. However,
Colonel Flitcroft was not disturbed by the gaze
of his descendant, being, in fact, quite unaware
of it. The aged men were having a busy morning.

The conclave was not what it had been. [See Arp
and all his works.] There had come, as the years
went by, a few recruits; but faces were missing:
the two Tabors had gone, and Uncle Joe Davey
could no longer lay claim to the patriarchship; he
had laid it down with a half-sigh and gone his way.
Eskew himself was now the oldest of the conscript
fathers, the Colonel and Squire Buckalew pressing
him closely, with Peter Bradbury no great time
behind.

To-day they did not plant their feet upon the