little Bailey posing as proprietor of anything while his wife is on
deck, tickles Bayport's sense of humor.

The perspiring delinquents panted into the yard of the perfect boarding
house and tremblingly opened the door leading to the dining room. Dinner
was well under way, and Mrs. Bangs, enthroned at the end of the long
table, behind the silver-plated teapot, was waiting to receive them. The
silence was appalling.

"Sorry to be a little behindhand, Ketury," stammered Asaph hurriedly.
"Town affairs are important, of course, and can't be neglected. I--"

"Yes, yes; that's so, Ketury," cut in Mr. Bangs.

"You see--"

"Hum! Yes, I see." Keturah's tone was several degrees below freezing.
"Hum! I s'pose 'twas town affairs kept you, too, hey?"

"Well, well--er--not exactly, as you might say, but--" Bailey squeezed
himself into the armchair at the end of the table opposite his wife, the
end which, with sarcasm not the less keen for being unintentional, was
called the "head." "Not exactly town affairs, 'twan't that kept me,
Ketury, but--My! don't them cod cheeks smell good? You always could cook
cod cheeks, if I do say it."

The compliment was wasted. Mrs. Bangs had a sermon to deliver, and its
text was not "cod cheeks."

"Bailey Bangs," she began, "when I was brought to realize that my