J. Archibald McKackney
fer to work out this problem for himself, Mr. J. Archibald McKackney."
June 8.—The blow has fallen. For the last fortnight I have seen the inevitable climax drawing nearer and nearer. It was a splendidly dramatic situation. I will grant you that. There was no need of more confession from Wilkins. It was obvious that he was becoming more hopelessly enslaved by the young missionary person every day. I have long ago outlived the years of romance, but I will acknowledge that the plight of Wilkins awoke an interested flutter in the region of my heart. I wanted him to find happiness: but at the price of a throne? Ah, there was no getting away from the horns of that dilemma. It was as self-evident as a syllogism in a text book of logic and could be summed up in tabloid form:
Hank Wilkins reigns because of his whiskers.
Miss Hulda Barnstable will not marry him with whiskers.
Ergo—he gives up the throne
Or he gives up the girl.
