nominated Scotch whiskey. The order was filled without a slip. Quimbleton's face beamed above his beard like a full-blown rose. "Magnificent!" he whispered to Bleak, both of them having partaken in the second round. "If this keeps on we'll have a charge of the tight brigade." 

 The next round was ninety-five Jack Rose cocktails, but the audience was beginning to get out of hand. Those who had not yet been served grew restive. They saw their companions with brightened eyes and beaming faces, comparing notes as to this delicious revival of old sensations. In the impatience of some and the jubilation of others, the psychic concentration flagged a little. Then, just as Quimbleton was about to ask for the fourth round, the unforgiveable happened. Some one at the back shouted, "A glass of buttermilk!" 

 Miss Chuff shuddered, quivered, and opened her eyes with a tragic gasp. She slipped from the chair, and fell exhausted to the floor. Bleak ran to pick her up. Quimbleton screamed out an oath. 

 "The spell is broken!" he roared. "There's a spy in the room!" 

 At that instant a battalion of armed chuffs burst into the hall. They carried a huge hose, and in ten seconds a six-inch stream of cold water was being poured upon the bewildered psychic tipplers. Quimbleton and Bleak, seizing the girl's helpless form, escaped by a door at the back of the platform. 

 "Heaven help us," cried Bleak, distraught. "What shall we do? This means the firing squad unless we can escape." 

 Theodolinda feebly opened her eyes. 

 "O horrible," she murmured. "The spirit of buttermilk—I saw him—he threatened me—" 

 "The horse!" cried Quimbleton, with fierce energy. "The Bishop's horse—in the stable!" 

 They ran wildly to the rear quarters of the Home, where they found the Bishop's famous charger whinneying in his stall. All three leaped upon his back. In the confusion, amid the screams of the tortured inmates and the cruel cries of the invading chuffs, they made good their escape. 

 Every one of the wretched inmates captured at the psychic carouse was immediately sentenced to six months' hard listening on the Chautauqua circuit. But even during this brutal punishment their memories returned with tenderest reminiscence to the experience of that afternoon. As one of them said, "it was a real treat." And although Quimbleton had plainly stated 

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