you know that, Uncle Dick?"

"Once upon a time," I said, as I swung lazily at the sculls, "I was
a boy myself, and read a lot about a gentleman named 'Beetle-browed
Ben.' I tell you. Imp, he was a terror for foaming and stamping,
if you like, and used to kill three or four people every morning,
just to get an appetite for breakfast." The Imp regarded me with
round eyes.

"How fine!" he breathed, hugging himself in an ecstasy.

"It was," I nodded: "and then he was a very wonderful man in other
ways. You see, he was always getting himse1f shot through the head,
or run through the body, but it never hurt Beetle-browed Ben - not
a bit of it."

"An' did he 'swing people at the yard-arm - with a bitter smile'?"

"Lots of 'em!" I answered.

"An' make them 'walk the plank - with a horrid laugh'?"

"By the hundred!"

"An' 'maroon them on a desolate island - with a low chuckle'?"

"Many a time," I answered; "and generally with chuckle."

"Oh. I should like to read about him!" said the Imp with a deep
sigh; "will you lend me your book about him, Uncle Dick?"