surprise meeting you in England. A pleasant surprise. By the way, one
generally shakes hands in the smartest circles. Yours seem to be down
there somewhere. Might I trouble you? Right. Got it? Thanks!"

He bent forward, possessed himself of Mr. McEachern's right hand,
which was hanging limply at its proprietor's side, shook it warmly,
and replaced it.

"'Wahye?" asked Mr. McEachern gruffly, giving a pleasing air of
novelty to the hackneyed salutation by pronouncing it as one word. He
took some little time getting into his stride when carrying on polite
conversation.

"Very well, thank you. You're looking as strong as ever, Mr.
McEachern."

The ex-policeman grunted. In a conversational sense, he was sparring
for wind.

Molly had regained her composure by this time. Her father was taking
the thing better than she had expected.

"It's Jimmy, father, dear," she said. "Jimmy Pitt."

"Dear old James," murmured the visitor.

"I know, me dear, I know. Wahye?"

"Still well," replied Jimmy cheerfully. "Sitting up, you will notice,"
he added, waving a hand in the direction of his teacup, "and taking