coming; the poor man was ignorant of the fearful joy in store for him.
I gripped Boggley by the arm. "Wretch," I hissed in his ear. "Why didn't you write? What sort of man is he? Will he hate having me?"
"Qui hai?" bellowed Boggley to the deserted-looking bungalow. Then, turning to me, "Oh yes, he'll hate it," he said calmly; "but he'll be pleased afterwards." I could have shaken him. Making me play the part of a visit to the dentist!
When our host appeared, very dishevelled (it turned out that he was feeling far from well and had been lying down), and beheld me, dismay was written large on his countenance. He glared round in a hunted way, and it looked as if he were going to make a bolt for it; but he remembered in time his manhood, and faced me. (His name is Ferris, and he is tall and bald, and about forty, and so shy that when he blushes his eyes water.) Somehow, we all got inside the house, and Boggley and I sat in the drawing-room while Mr. Ferris rushed out to summon his minions and make arrangements. We heard a whispered discussion going on about sheets, and I longed to tell my distracted host that I had all my bedding with me in a strap; but the thought that he might consider me "on-
