of easy patronage, all the harder to endure with philosophic calm at the present moment from the fact that the latter was lounging in his favorite chair. Even from an aesthetic point of view, the sight of the bulging child offended him. Ogden Ford was round and blobby and looked overfed. He had the plethoric habit of one to whom wholesome exercise is a stranger and the sallow complexion of the confirmed candy-fiend. Even now, a bare half hour after breakfast, his jaws were moving with a rhythmical, champing motion. 

"What are you eating, boy?" demanded Mr. Pett, his disappointment turning to irritability. 

"Candy." 

"I wish you would not eat candy all day." 

"Mother gave it to me," said Ogden simply. As he had anticipated, the shot silenced the enemy's battery. Mr. Pett grunted but made no verbal comment. Ogden celebrated his victory by putting another piece of candy in his mouth. 

"Got a grouch this morning, haven't you, pop?" 

"I will not be spoken to like that!" 

"I thought you had," said his step-son complacently. "I can always tell. I don't see why you want to come picking on me, though. I've done nothing." 

Mr. Pett was sniffing suspiciously. 

"You've been smoking." 

"Me!!" 

"Smoking cigarettes." 

"No, sir!" 

"There are two butts in the ashtray." 

"I didn't put them there." 

"One of them is warm." 

"It's a warm day." 

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