The Prophet flew to his dear relative's assistance, and Mrs. Merillia
endeavoured to rise and to lean upon his anxious arm. After a struggle,
however, in which the Prophet took part and two chairs were overset, she
was obliged to desist.

"You must ring the bell, Hennessey," she said. "Mr. Ferdinand and
Gustavus must carry me to bed in the chair."

The Prophet sprang tragically to the bell. It was answered. The
procession was re-formed, and Mrs. Merillia was carried to bed, still
smiling, nodding at each stair and bearing herself with admirable
courage.

As Mr. Ferdinand and Gustavus descended to the basement after the
completion of their unusual task, the latter said solemnly,--

"However should master have come to know as the missis wouldn't be able
to put foot to floor this night, Mr. Ferdinand? However?"

"I cannot answer you, Gustavus," Mr. Ferdinand replied, shaking his
broad and globe-like head, round whose bald cupola the jet-black hair
was brushed in two half moons decorated with a renowned "butler's own
special pomade."

"Well, Mr. Ferdinand," rejoined Gustavus, stretching out one hand for
pale ale, the other for _French Revolution_, "I don't like it."

"Why, Gustavus?" inquired Mr. Ferdinand, preparing to resume his
discussion with the accommodating upper housemaid. "Why?"