whomsoever I like," he said flatly, "or I shan't stay."

"Our ambition," said Arthur stiffly, "is to make our guests comfortable. Our rule against tipping is therefore abolished."

They entered the office. Mr. Langham could now see, having wiped the fog from his glasses. He saw a lovely girl in black, seated at a table facing him. Beyond her was a roaring fire of backlogs. Arthur presented Mr. Langham.

"Are you frozen?" asked Maud. "Too cold to write your name in our brand-new register?"

He took the pen which she offered him and wrote his name in a large, clear hand, worthy of John Hancock.

"It's the first name in the book," he said.[Pg 48] "It's always been a very lucky name for me. I hope it will be for you."

[Pg 48]

Arthur had escaped.

"There is one more formality," said Maud: "breakfast."

"I had a little something in my car," said Mr. Langham; "but if it wouldn't be too much trouble—er—just a few little eggs and things."

"How would it be," said Maud, "if I took you straight to the kitchen? My sister Mary presides there, and you shall tell her exactly what you want, and she will see that you get it."

A rosy blush mounted Mr. Langham's good-natured face.

"Oh," he said, with the deepest sincerity, "if I am to have the entrée to the kitchen, I shall be happy. I will tell you a secret. At my club I always breakfast in the kitchen. It's against the rules, but I do it. A friendly chef—beds of glowing charcoal—burnished copper—piping-hot tidbits."

It was up-hill to Smoke House, and Mr. Langham, in his burdensome overcoat, grew warm on the way, and was puffing slightly when he got there.

"Mary," Maud called—"Mr. Langham!"

"The kitchen is the foundation of all domestic[Pg 49] happiness," said he. "I have come to yours as fast as I could. I think—I know, that I never saw a brighter, happier-looking kitchen."

[Pg 49]

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