tionable man suggested to his objectionable party. In fact, he did more than suggest it. Carrying a filled glass in one hand, and with his other propelling before him the gray-haired but obviously elated person to whom he had alluded as "Ole Doc Taylor," he urged his friends to this central position in the room, and, in doing so, passed close by the bridge table. With horror, Ogle saw the glass in the outstretched hand wavering over the silken shoulder of Mme. Momoro, and though its bearer avoided catastrophe there, the next moment he bumped heavily into the chair of the young Hyacinthe. "Excuse me, young feller," he said. "I never been to Europe before; I like the ocean fine, but I haven't learned to walk on it properly yet."
Hyacinthe rose, and, accepting this apology with a foreign formality, he bowed slightly and quickly, inclining his body from the waist; then, without any change of countenance or looking at the disturber, sat down again and played a card from his hand.
"You'd think that might put the man in his place," Macklyn muttered.
But the man was impervious; his voice filled the room. "Doc, you and Mr. Wackstle and Mr. Brown sit on the sofa. I'm goin' to take this chair where I can get a good look at you, so's I'll know you again
