that wretched thing and speculating about it. Let's be off!"
But before we could make any move, Tibbie Muir came into the room, looking very disapproving and sour of face, and presented Madrasia with another card. She became voluble.
"I've told him, and I've better told him, that the master's not at home," she declared, "but he'll not take my word nor go away, and you must just deal with him yourself, Miss Madrasia. And if there's going to be this coming and going at the door all day long———"
Madrasia glanced at the card and passed it over to me. It was a printed card, and the lettering was meant to be impressive.
Mr. Augustus Weech.
Newcastle Evening Planet.
"Well?" demanded Madrasia.
"I think I should see this gentleman," said I.
"Bring him up, Tibbie," commanded Madrasia. "Perhaps he'll be the last. What can
