J. Archibald McKackney
matters, and I had forgotten the very existence of Hans Bumphauser, the pride of Eistelberg. Would to Heaven I had given him the finest suite in my mansion and dined him at my right hand!
It seems that in his gloomy excursions over the estate the bearded peasant had noticed the unusual number of whiskered gentlemen who seemed to be welcome guests at the mansion. He saw them going to and fro in groups and squads, and the sensational beard of Hank Wilkins also helped to confirm the black suspicions of Hans Bumphauser that these strangers had crowded him out of favor with the Lord of the Manor. He was even overheard to mutter, "Gott in Himmel, are these second-rate whiskers to make me forgotten already?" But no importance was attached to this ominous hint of what was shortly to befall.
Jealousy was flaming his grief into slow and sullen anger and he began to hunger for revenge. His thick wits could devise no way of harming the neglectful and fickle Mr. Mc-
