Mid-day, and even feeding-time, passed by gloomily enough, till a
small disturbance occurred which had the effect of releasing some
of the electricity with which the air was charged. Harold, it
should be explained, was of a very different mental mould, and
never brooded, moped, nor ate his heart out over any
disappointment. One wild outburst--one dissolution of a minute
into his original elements of air and water, of tears and
outcry--so much insulted nature claimed. Then he would pull
himself together, iron out his countenance with a smile, and
adjust himself to the new condition of things.

If the gods are ever grateful to man for anything, it is when he
is so good as to display a short memory. The Olympians were
never slow to recognize this quality of Harold's, in which,
indeed, their salvation lay, and on this occasion their gratitude
had taken the practical form of a fine fat orange, tough-
rinded as oranges of those days were wont to be. This he had
eviscerated in the good old-fashioned manner, by biting out a
hole in the shoulder, inserting a lump of sugar therein, and then
working it cannily till the whole soul and body of the orange
passed glorified through the sugar into his being. Thereupon,
filled full of orange-juice and iniquity, he conceived a deadly
snare. Having deftly patted and squeezed the orange-skin till it
resumed its original shape, he filled it up with water, inserted
a fresh lump of sugar in the orifice, and, issuing forth, blandly
proffered it to me as I sat moodily in the doorway dreaming of
strange wild circuses under tropic skies.

Such a stale old dodge as this would hardly have taken me in at
ordinary moments. But Harold had reckoned rightly upon the