room. Recognising the accents of his son-in-law, he breathed an oath and charged in. He objected to Archie wandering at large about his suite.
The sight that met his eyes when he opened the door did nothing to soothe him. The floor was a sea of clothes. There were coats on the chairs, trousers on the bed, shirts on the bookshelf. And in the middle of his welter stood Archie, with a man who, to Mr. Brewster's heated eye, looked like a tramp comedian out of a burlesque show.
"Great Godfrey!" ejaculated Mr. Brewster.
Archie looked up with a friendly smile.
"Oh, halloa-halloa!" he said, affably. "We were just glancing through your spare scenery to see if we couldn't find something for my pal here. This is Mr. Brewster, my father-in-law, old man."
Archie scanned his relative's twisted features. Something in his expression seemed not altogether encouraging. He decided that the negotiations had better be conducted in private. "One moment, old lad," he said to his new friend. "I just want to have a little talk with my father-in-law in the other room. Just a little friendly business chat. You stay here."
In the other room Mr. Brewster turned on Archie like a wounded lion of the desert.
"What the!"
Archie secured one of his coat-buttons and began to massage it affectionately.
"Ought to have explained!" said Archie, "only didn't want to interrupt your lunch. The sportsman on the horizon is a dear old pal of mine"
Mr. Brewster wrenched himself free.
"What the devil do you mean, you worm, by bringing
