of his office. He set diligently to work by the declining winter
light, until he was interrupted by the entrance of his Chinese
waiter to tell him that supper--which was the meal that Mulrady
religiously adhered to in place of the late dinner of civilization--
was ready in the dining-room. Mulrady mechanically obeyed the
summons; but on entering the room the oasis of a few plates in a
desert of white table-cloth which awaited him made him hesitate.
In its best aspect, the high dark Gothic mahogany ecclesiastical
sideboard and chairs of this room, which looked like the
appointments of a mortuary chapel, were not exhilarating; and to-
day, in the light of the rain-filmed windows and the feeble rays of
a lamp half-obscured by the dark shining walls, it was most
depressing.

"You kin take up supper into my office," said Mulrady, with a
sudden inspiration. "I'll eat it there."

He ate it there, with his usual healthy appetite, which did not
require even the stimulation of company. He had just finished,
when his Irish cook--the one female servant of the house--came to
ask permission to be absent that evening and the next day.

"I suppose the likes of your honor won't be at home on the
Christmas Day? And it's me cousins from the old counthry at Rough-
and-Ready that are invitin' me."

"Why don't you ask them over here?" said Mulrady, with another
vague inspiration. "I'll stand treat."

"Lord preserve you for a jinerous gintleman! But it's the likes of