"Mabbe," suggested the Flopper timidly, "mabbe dere was an accident."

Madison made no answer.

The Flopper shifted from foot to foot and licked his lips, stealing
frightened glances at Madison's face.

"Wot--wot'll I do wid de Patriarch?" he stammered out miserably.

And then Madison smiled at him--not happily, but eloquently.

"Swipe me!" mumbled the Flopper, as he backed out from the trellis. "Dis
love game's fierce--an' mabbe _I_ don't know! 'Sposin' she'd been
Mamie an' me the Doc--'sposin' it had!" He gulped hastily. "Swipe me!"
said the Flopper with emotion.

Madison, motionless, watched the Flopper disappear. He wasn't quite so
calm now, not so cool and collected and composed. He must go somewhere
and think this out--somewhere where it would be quiet and he wouldn't be
disturbed.

A step sounded on the path--Madison looked through the trellis. A man,
with yellow, unhealthy skin and sunken cheeks, his head bowed, was
passing in through the porch. It caught Madison with fierce, exquisite
irony. Why not go there himself if he wanted quiet--the shrine-room--the
place of meditation! Well, he wanted to _meditate_! He laughed
jarringly. The shrine-room--for him! Great! Immense! Magnificent! Why
not? That's what he had created it for, wasn't it--to meditate in!