"There is out here at the door, Mr. Elwood, a sort of a countryfied,
odd-looking old fellow, in rusty brown clothes, that has been insisting on
coming in, without being invited here to-night, and without telling his
business or even giving his name. And he pressed so hard that we had to
drive him back off the steps; but he refused to go away, even then, and
kept asking where Mark was."

"Mark! why, that is my given name: didn't you know it?" said Elwood,
rebukingly.

"No, sir, I didn't," replied the fashionable _pro tempore_ lackey. "And if
I had, my orders has always been on sech occasions not to admit any but the
invited, who won't send in their names, or tell their business. And I
generally calculate to go by Gunter, and do the thing up genteel."

"Well, well," said Elwood, impatiently cutting short the other in the
defence of his professional character, and leading the way to the door,
"well, well, we had better see who he is, perhaps."

When they reached the front entrance, they caught, by means of the
reflected light of the entry and chambers, an imperfect view of the object
of their proposed scrutiny, walking up and down the bricked pathway leading
to the house. But, not being able to identify the new-comer with any one of
his acquaintances, at that distance, Elwood walked down and confronted him;
when, after a momentary pause, he siezed the supposed intruder by the hand,
and, in a surprised and agitated tone, exclaimed:

"My brother Arthur! How came you here?"

"By steam and stage."