J. Archibald McKackney
breeze fanned the noble beard of Wilkins and spread it out like a crimson panel. After listening for several minutes, I dropped the instruments and could not help shouting:
"Hurrah, I was right. No more false whiskers. Oh, the mellow richness of your tone, Wilkins. Never, never trim your whiskers without my supervision. After lunch we must discuss the plans for assembling an orchestra with a human key-board. I will spare no expense to find the needed assortment of whiskers."
As we went down stairs I was pleased to hear Wilkins humming behind me:
"As long as there's harvests of whiskers to grow,
We shall have music wherever we go."
It was late that night before I was able to outline the final instructions which should send my assistant forth on the most difficult mission of our checkered career together. He was not appalled in the least, however, and I had reason for renewed gratitude that so
