The proprietor of the hat after some protestations suffered Chad to
bear away that grateful protection to his slightly bald head,--retaining
his handkerchief, which he finally rolled up into a little wad and
kept tightly clenched in the perspiring palm of his left hand,--and
then threw out the additional hope that everything was satisfactory.

"Delicious, suh; I have not tasted such Madeira since the wah. In my
cellar at home, suh, I once had some old Madeira of '28 that was given
to my father, the late General John Caarter, by old Judge Thornton.
You, of course, know that wine, suh. Ah! I see that you do."

And then followed one of the colonel's delightful monologues descriptive
of all the vintages of that year, the colonel constantly appealing to
the dazed and delighted grocerman to be set right in minor technical
matters,--the grocer understanding them as little as he did the Aztec
dialects,--the colonel himself supplying the needed data and then
thanking the auburn gentleman for the information so charmingly that
for the moment that worthy tradesman began to wonder why he had not
long before risen from the commonplace level of canned vegetables to
the more sublime plane of wines in the wood.

"Now the Madeira you sent me this mornin', suh, is a trifle too fruity
for my taste. Chad, open a fresh bottle."

The owner of the pass-book instantly detected a very decided fruity
flavor, but thought he had another wine, which he would send in the
morning, that might suit the colonel's palate better.

The colonel thanked him, and then drifted into the wider field of