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spelt M-o-f-f-a-m, but pronounced Moom.”

      “To rhyme,” said Archie, helpfully, “with Bluffinghame.”

      “Lu,” said Mr. Brewster, “run away! I want to speak to-to-to—”

      “You called me THIS before,” said Archie.

      “You aren't angry, father, dear?” said Lucilla.

      “Oh no! Oh no! I'm tickled to death!”

      When his daughter had withdrawn, Mr. Brewster drew a long breath.

      “Now then!” he said.

      “Bit embarrassing, all this, what!” said Archie, chattily. “I mean to say, having met before in less happy circs. and what not. Rum coincidence and so forth! How would it be to bury the jolly old hatchet—start a new life—forgive and forget—learn to love each other—and all that sort of rot? I'm game if you are. How do we go? Is it a bet?”

      Mr. Brewster remained entirely unsoftened by this manly appeal to his better feelings.

      “What the devil do you mean by marrying my daughter?”

      Archie reflected.

      “Well, it sort of happened, don't you know! You know how these things ARE! Young yourself once, and all that. I was most frightfully in love, and Lu seemed to think it wouldn't be a bad scheme, and one thing led to another, and—well, there you are, don't you know!”

      “And I suppose you think you've done pretty well for yourself?”

      “Oh, absolutely! As far as I'm concerned, everything's topping! I've never felt so braced in my life!”

      “Yes!” said Mr. Brewster, with bitterness, “I suppose, from your view-point, everything IS 'topping.' You haven't a cent to your name, and you've managed to fool a rich man's daughter into marrying you. I suppose you looked me up in Bradstreet before committing yourself?”

      This aspect of the matter had not struck Archie until this moment.

      “I say!” he observed, with dismay. “I never looked at it like that before! I can see that, from your point of view, this must look like a bit of a wash-out!”

      “How do you propose to support Lucille, anyway?”

      Archie ran a finger round the inside of his collar. He felt embarrassed, His father-in-law was opening up all kinds of new lines of thought.

      “Well, there, old bean,” he admitted, frankly, “you rather have me!” He turned the matter over for a moment. “I had a sort of idea of, as it were, working, if you know what I mean.”

      “Working at what?”

      “Now, there again you stump me somewhat! The general scheme was that I should kind of look round, you know, and nose about and buzz to and fro till something turned up. That was, broadly speaking, the notion!”

      “And how did you suppose my daughter was to live while you were doing all this?”

      “Well, I think,” said Archie, “I THINK we rather expected YOU to rally round a bit for the nonce!”

      “I see! You expected to live on me?”

      “Well, you put it a bit crudely, but—as far as I had mapped anything out—that WAS what you might call the general scheme of procedure. You don't think much of it, what? Yes? No?”

      Mr. Brewster exploded.

      “No! I do not think much of it! Good God! You go out of my hotel—MY hotel—calling it all the names you could think of—roasting it to beat the band—”

      “Trifle hasty!” murmured Archie, apologetically. “Spoke without thinking. Dashed tap had gone DRIP-DRIP-DRIP all night—kept me awake—hadn't had breakfast—bygones be bygones—!”

      “Don't interrupt! I say, you go out of my hotel, knocking it as no one has ever knocked it since it was built, and you sneak straight off and marry my daughter without my knowledge.”

      “Did think of wiring for blessing. Slipped the old bean, somehow. You know how one forgets things!”

      “And now you come back and calmly expect me to fling my arms round you and kiss you, and support you for the rest of your life!”

      “Only while I'm nosing about and buzzing to and fro.”

      “Well, I suppose I've got to support you. There seems no way out of it. I'll tell you exactly what I propose to do. You think my hotel is a pretty poor hotel, eh? Well, you'll have plenty of opportunity of judging, because you're coming to live here. I'll let you have a suite and I'll let you have your meals, but outside of that—nothing doing! Nothing doing! Do you understand what I mean?”

      “Absolutely! You mean, 'Napoo!'”

      “You can sign bills for a reasonable amount in my restaurant, and the hotel will look after your laundry. But not a cent do you get out me. And, if you want your shoes shined, you can pay for it yourself in the basement. If you leave them outside your door, I'll instruct the floor-waiter to throw them down the air-shaft. Do you understand? Good! Now, is there anything more you want to ask?”

      Archie smiled a propitiatory smile.

      “Well, as a matter of fact, I was going to ask if you would stagger along and have a bite with us in the grill-room?”

      “I will not!”

      “I'll sign the bill,” said Archie, ingratiatingly. “You don't think much of it? Oh, right-o!”

CHAPTER IV. WORK WANTED

       Table of Contents

      It seemed to Archie, as he surveyed his position at the end of the first month of his married life, that all was for the best in the best of all possible worlds. In their attitude towards America, visiting Englishmen almost invariably incline to extremes, either detesting all that therein is or else becoming enthusiasts on the subject of the country, its climate, and its institutions. Archie belonged to the second class. He liked America and got on splendidly with Americans from the start. He was a friendly soul, a mixer; and in New York, that city of mixers, he found himself at home. The atmosphere of good-fellowship and the open-hearted hospitality of everybody he met appealed to him. There were moments when it seemed to him as though New York had simply been waiting for him to arrive before giving the word to let the revels commence.

      Nothing, of course, in this world is perfect; and, rosy as were the glasses through which Archie looked on his new surroundings, he had to admit that there was one flaw, one fly in the ointment, one individual caterpillar in the salad. Mr. Daniel Brewster, his father-in-law, remained consistently unfriendly. Indeed, his manner towards his new relative became daily more and more a manner which would have caused gossip on the plantation if Simon Legree had exhibited it in his relations with Uncle Tom. And this in spite of the fact that Archie, as early as the third morning of his stay, had gone to him and in the most frank and manly way, had withdrawn his criticism of the Hotel Cosmopolis, giving it as his considered opinion that the Hotel Cosmopolis on closer inspection appeared to be a good egg, one of the best and brightest, and a bit of all right.

      “A credit to you, old thing,” said Archie cordially.

      “Don't call me old thing!” growled Mr. Brewster.

      “Right-o, old companion!” said Archie amiably.

      Archie, a true philosopher, bore this hostility with fortitude, but it worried Lucille.

      “I do wish father understood you better,” was her wistful comment when Archie had related the conversation.

      “Well, you know,” said Archie, “I'm open for

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