tion of pleasure as a long, loosely built man, much younger than himself, stepped from the car and mounted the verandah, flinging his hat on a chair. His high-boned, quixotic face wore a pleasant smile; his rough tweed clothes, his hair and short moustache were tolerably untidy.
'Cupples, by all that's miraculous!' cried the man, pouncing upon Mr. Cupples before he could rise, and seizing his outstretched hand in a hard grip. 'My luck is serving me today,' the newcomer went on spasmodically. 'This is the second slice within an hour. How are you, my best of friends? And why are you here? Why sit'st thou by that ruined breakfast? Dost thou its former pride recall, or ponder how it passed away? I am glad to see you!'
'I was half expecting you, Trent,' Mr. Cupples replied, his face wreathed in smiles. 'You are looking splendid, my dear fellow. I will tell you all about it. But you cannot have had your own breakfast yet. Will you have it at my table here?'
'Rather!' said the man. 'An enormous great breakfast, too–with refined conversation and tears of recognition never dry. Will you get young Siegfried to lay a place for me while I
