J. Archibald McKackney
topic of the whiskers. However, we managed to cross the golf course without more bickering until my home loomed ahead, set far back amid a park-like expanse of grounds. The seafaring pilgrim balked in his tracks and shook his head so violently that his beard waggled like a crimson banner in a big wind.
"I've heard they stow the rich lunatics in such elegant dry docks as this while their stearin' gear is being repaired," he shouted. "But Hank Wilkins don't belong in this gilded bug-house, not by a ding-donged sight."
The mutiny was suppressed only when a head-gardener and a gate-keeper happened to appear. Their attitude toward me was so sane and respectful and my orders were so intelligently delivered that the pilgrim gulped down his fears and walked up the rambling path with somewhat nervous tread. In his time Mr. Hank Wilkins must have seen many curious things, but when he was ushered into the library by a liveried footman, his ruddy countenance became positively pale with emo-
