like yourself?"

Tyson's small blue eyes twinkled, for he prided himself on being able
to take a joke at his own expense. Still it was not exactly kind of
Stanistreet to remind him of his mushroom growth.

"Come," said Stanistreet, "you are a gentleman, you know. At any rate,
you're about the only fellow in these parts who can stand a frock-coat
and topper--that's the test. I saw Morley, your big man, going into
church yesterday, and he looked as if he'd just sneaked out of the City
on a 'bus. But you always knew how to dress yourself. The instinct is
hereditary."

Louis had just made a brilliant series of cannons, and was marking fifty
to his score. If he had not been so absorbed in his game, he would have
seen that Tyson was angry; and Tyson when he was angry was not at all
nice to see.

He made himself very stiff as he answered, "Whether I'm a gentleman or
not I can't say. It's an abstruse question. But I've got the girl on my
side, which is a point in my favor; I have the weighty support of my
mamma-in-law elect; and--the prejudices of papa I shall subdue by
degrees."

"By degrees? What degrees?" Again the question was unkind. It referred to
a phase of Tyson's university career which he least liked to look back
upon.

"And how about Mrs. Hathaway?"