"But tell you, sir, he is not my son!" The judge was bending over the desk 'phone as I looked in a half hour later. His voice rose in a crescendo of rage: "Wha—what's that? Do I want to speak with him? Certainly not, sir—and I won't!... Um, yes—John W. Billings—yes, that's his name.... Stuff and nonsense, sir! He's up-stairs now in his room.... Says what?"—the judge's eyes rolled frowningly upward as he listened; then he licked his lips and bent again, speaking with passionate incisiveness: "Why, dammit, man, I've just this minute been talking to him—just left him, y'understand.... Certainly your man's an impostor—you ought to know that!... Yes, this is Judge Billings, himself.... Eh? Oh, that's all right, but now let me tell you something"—he cleared his throat and gathered his voice in cold, deliberate accents: "You let me be annoyed again from your precinct, and I can promise you that.... Um, well that's all right then.... 'Bye!"

He banged the receiver to the hook and faced about, muttering things to himself.

"Well, upon my word! Of all the—excuse me, Lightnut!" He wiped his forehead, his glance abstracted and scowling. "Somebody is putting this fool up to this—somebody trying to annoy me!" He uttered a short laugh that was more of a snort. "There's some fool lunatic down in New York that they've arrested and he's got a bug that he's my son! This is the second offense. Caused me to lose two hours from my office yesterday in the city and upset me for the whole day! And me so busy! busy!"—his hands lifted toward the papers on the table—"so busy I can hardly"—another snort, and he relighted his cigar, puffing savagely—"looks like there's just one fool thing after another interrupting me or absorbing my time!"

"Jolly shame, you know!" I responded, dropping sympathetically into a chair. I pushed the papers to one side so I could rest my elbow on the table edge; besides, I saw they were fretting him—could tell by his glances, you know.

For another thing, I had got hold of a devilish shrewd idea I wanted to break to him—about this chap who was pretending to be his son. I remembered that the old rascal who had invaded my rooms had tried to make me believe that I was his bosom friend.

"Oh, I say, you know," I began, declining a cigar and selecting a cigarette from my case, "I've an idea!"

And I faced him impressively.

"You've what?"—he straightened forward, with a kind of twisted smile—interested, you know—"whatever makes you think that, my boy?"

I waited, sending a long, thin smoke funnel upward. Kept him expectant, you see, and gave me time to get hold of the corners of the jolly thing myself. Catch the point? So devilish important when you have to lift an idea, don't you know.

"Rather fancy your chap's the same one I know of," I drawled, "an oldish duffer—white mutton-chops—beefy sort of face—sunburn line and baldish—all that sort of thing!"

"Well, by-y-y George!"—he slapped his hand down—"I should say that was a real idea! And you say you know this crazy fool?"

"Crazy? He's not crazy!" I exclaimed indignantly, thinking of her pajamas. "And he's no more fool than I am!"

He fell back with a grunt. "Oh, well, I know—but—"

He coughed. By Jove, he seemed disappointed, somehow!

I proceeded calmly: "Real truth is, the beggar's a notorious criminal, known to the police as Foxy Grandpa—pretends all sorts of things about people, don't you know."

"My dear Lightnut,"—he was staring at me, mouth distended—"why—how the devil do you know this?"

I inhaled deliberately. "Awfully simple, don't you know," I responded quietly; and I let him wait till I had blown six rings. "Fact is, I'm the one sent him to jail!"

"You!"—his laugh was frankly amused, incredulous.

"Oh, yes!"—carelessly—"found the fellow thieving in my rooms the other night and called in police—oh, they recognized him in a minute!"

He looked floored. "Well, what do you think of that?" he murmured slowly. Then his face flushed and he sat erect. "And so that's all the crazier the ruffian is—that's the kind of smart Alex that's been trying to get gay with me—with me!" He started up, snorting like a war-horse—"Huh! Well, two can play at that game, and"—his eyes twinkled wrathfully—"I'll show him who's got the best hand! I'll just—"

The rest trailed off in a mutter. He had dropped beside the telephone again, his cigar crushed firmly in the corner of his mouth, his gray mustache bristling aggressively. I tried to trace the family resemblance to Frances, but clashed if I could see a single point. And while I was thinking of this, he got his number.

"Yes, yes," I heard, "I do want to speak to him personally—this is Judge Billings!"—a moment, and then: "Morning, Commissioner—this is Billings.... Fine, thank you!... Oh, no! No bad effects at all—takes more than that to throw a seasoned old diner like my—.... What say?"—a cackling chuckle—"yes, I knew the dinner would loosen him up! Had his promise before we left the table; Soakem heard him—so did Benedict.... Yes—oh, yes; he's got it—had it with me, you know, in case!... No-o-o, of course not; not a single line or scrap!"—a lower drop of tone—"just in a plain, blank envelope—best way always, you know.... Yes, that gives us a safe margin in the Senate now, not even counting upon what they do in committee—and Soakem'll take care of that end.... Yes, he went back to Albany this morning—he says the bill's safely deader'n Hector now.... Er, by the way, Commissioner,"—the judge cleared his throat and his voice sobered: "Little favor I want to ask—h'm! I'm being greatly annoyed by some low vagabond confined at one of the stations.... Yes, I really mean it!—Captain Clutchem's precinct, you know—and this ruffian insists to them that he's my son.... No, indeed, I'm not joking at all.... All right, you may laugh, but I fail to appreciate the funny side, myself—especially now, you know, when I'm up to my neck in this merger case.... How's that? What do I want done? Oh, I wouldn't venture to say as to that! I leave that to you!... I know.... Yes, I understand all that, but ... wait—wait just a minute! Now you listen—"

The judge concentrated more intensely over the instrument.

"You know what you asked me to do when I saw you last night—and I refused"—another voice drop—"with the mayor, you know? Well—now listen—you make assurance that this scoundrel will not bother me for thirty days and—well, I give you my word that I'll do all I can to bring things the way you want.... Good!... What'll you do with him? Why, what in Sam Hill do I care what you do with him?... Oh, but say, Commissioner—yes, I do care, too!"—a laugh here like a jolly fiend—"I shouldn't like for him to be put away off in some nice, damp, dark cell to cool off—he! he! he!—y'understand?"

He got so mixed up in his chuckling and coughing that he couldn't get out another word for a moment. Then—

"Oh, no! Cer-tainly not; nor one too hot and airless, as you say—he! he! he! And don't put him—don't put him—" the judge was gasping for air now—"don't put him on bread and water, or anything of that kind, nor in a cell with rude, rough men who would tame his playful spirit—he! he! he!—oh, don't do that!... What say? I didn't quite catch—" And then, dash it, it seemed he did catch it, for he began waving his arm and pounding the desk. "Oh—oh, no, that would be too bad—really!... Eh? Oh, well, you know best—it's up to you now!... 'Bye, and many thanks, Commissioner! Eh? All right, to-morrow then at one at the Lawyers' Club—you can go over again the points of what you want with the mayor. 'Bye!"

And with good humor perfectly restored, he faced me, wabbling like a jolly jellyfish.

"'S greatest joke ever heard of in my life!" he chortled.

"Oh, I say, how did you find Jack?" I asked, for that was the thing I had begun to think of.

His face collapsed so dashed sudden, I was afraid it would break. And from being a peppery red, he changed to a devilish sickly yellow.

"Awful!" he said jerkily. "Something awful!" And he groaned like a jolly horse in pain. "Went up there, you know, but—" his hands lifted and dropped; he shook his head—"didn't seem to know me at all—was sitting there in his pajamas examining with a magnifying glass some leaves he had pulled at the window. Seems obsessed with some crazy patter of talk I couldn't understand—poor fellow!" The judge sighed. "Only thing he seemed to want me to do for him was to promise to wear his pajamas to-night—pajamas seem to be the focus of his malady this time."

I swallowed pretty hard and looked down.

"I promised," continued the judge gloomily. "And I'll do it—oh, yes, anything to humor him! He's to put them outside his door to-night—it's his own whim, you know." He went on moodily: "He won't allow any luncheon sent up; says if not too much trouble, would be grateful for two and one-half ounces of unleavened bread and clabber—what the devil's clabber?"

I had never heard of it—knew, of course, no one had!

"Well," he said with a deep breath, "we'll just have to do the best we can. Of course, under the circumstances, it's best for him to keep his apartment—Oh, say, would you like to go up?"

"Oh—er—think not!" I stammered. "Don't believe I—"

"You're right! You're right!" He pursed his lips: "Too pitiful a sight—only sadden you!" He began gathering up the papers behind my arm, though I murmured that they were not in my way at all. The cathedral chimes in the hall had played the half hour. The judge strolled over to the French windows that opened upon the loggia.

"I say, Lightnut, have you ever noticed the view from out here?" he asked briskly. "Fine, you know! Nice to sit here and watch the boats—have you your cigarettes? Oh, yes! Try this chair! Now, if you'll excuse me I'll be with you in—"

"Luncheon is served!" intoned a human machine.

"Ah-h!" The judge's tone evinced satisfaction. "My dear Lightnut," his hand upon my arm, "do you know I look upon you as so nearly one of us—?"

"Thank you, judge!" I said feelingly. By Jove, it was devilish comfy to have her father so jolly friendly about it!

"That I'm just going to ask you to excuse me from lunching with you—know you'll understand, my boy!—so infernally busy, you see!"

I didn't see, though he had been saying this all morning. But as he seemed to think he was busy, I wasn't going to make any dashed break contradicting him, you know. So I pretended I did see.

"Thank you—thank you, my boy!" He patted me on the back. "And as you'll have an opportunity of seeing a little more of that charming girl, Miss Kirkland—" Charming girl, indeed! I wondered what he would think, if he knew of her designs on poor Jack! "I want you to go in for her a bit—cultivate her a little; you may change your opinion—eh?" He laughed softly and paused in our progress through the library to dig me sharply in the side. "Go ahead—flirt with her, my boy! She will like it—all girls do—and it will do you good; do both of you good!" The old boy beamed at me over his glasses as he vented a horrible chuckle; didn't seem to notice how painfully shocked I was.

A flirtation, indeed! And with the frump, of all others! Of course he was just having his little joke, and didn't seem to realize what devilish poor taste he exhibited as the father of my darling.

"Thank you," I said rather coldly, "but I don't think that—er—sort of thing would show much consideration for Frances and—"

"Rubbish!" And, by Jove, how he laughed! "Do you think Francis would show any consideration for you?"—he snapped his fingers. "I think you're a bit too quixotic, young man!"

I didn't know—don't know now; never was up on any of those legal terms. He knew what he meant!

"Pshaw, now!" he went on, "if that's what's restraining you, you must drop it! I want you to have a pleasant time while you are here with Miss Kirkland—get along with you!"—then he pulled me back again—"You needn't be thinking about the slightest obligation so far as Francis is concerned. Why should you when the affair is all one-sided?"

"One—one-sided?" I repeated falteringly.

"Why, yes; the girl doesn't care for anybody in the whole word except her old father—and he idolizes her!"

Oh, did he!

"So you go on in there and loosen up—have a good time—and make her have one; and keep it up this afternoon. I'm so anxious for you to find something to interest and occupy you—" His glance dropped an instant to the papers and law books as though wishing he had something better with which to occupy himself. "Besides," he added carelessly, "Francis won't be here to see what you do—gone off with Scoggins up somewhere in the hills—big dog-fight up there and Francis took four curs, Scoggins two—they won't be back till night—so go ahead!"

But I had caught the back of a chair.

"Dog-fight?" I said faintly. "Frances up in the hills—and—and with Scoggins?" And she had only left me a half-hour ago!

"Why, certainly!" he said wearily, almost testily. "What of it? I tell you you've got to get your ideas all readjusted about Francis. What's the matter with the dog-fight?"

"So—so surprised," I faltered; "so unexpected, you know!"

"Poof!"—and he pushed me out through the doorway—"I never face anything unexpected in that quarter!"

But I think he would have, if he had followed me across into the dining-room and had faced, as I did—

Frances!

"So glad you didn't go to the dog-fight!" I said presently, beaming across at her delightedly.

Her sweet lips glowed at me as her dainty fingers poised the tiny trident before her lips. Jove, how I envied that jolly oyster! Then she smiled witchingly, teasingly.

"It wasn't because I didn't have an invitation," she responded archly. I knew! That beast, Scoggins!

"Umph;" grunted the frump, seated on the curve between us. "I verily believe Francis would go to anything!"

I scowled—couldn't help it, dash it! And Frances saw, and ducked her head, biting her lip and blushing. I could have choked the frump for so embarrassing her!

Yet the woman did try to be pleasant to me.

"Did you ever find a pearl in an oyster, Mr. Lightnut?" she asked.

"By Jove, no!" I said, staring at her for the fool question. For who could ever lose a pearl in a jolly oyster, don't you know? And yet, the next instant:

"I have!" said my darling, glancing up at me the oddest way.

"Have you, Frances?"—the frump faced her interestedly. "You should examine with a microscope the interstratifications of calcareous matter and animal membrane."

My beauty looked down at her plate.

"I am examining it," she said gravely, "and microscopically. Probably shall this afternoon."

But she didn't! No, by Jove, we were together almost all the afternoon, though we never could get away from the frump—dash it, she just took charge of us. And it was the same again in the evening. By Jove, it was disgusting—really, that's the only word to use—the way that woman assumed toward everybody the air of expect-to-be-mistress-here-some-day-and-might-as-well-begin-now!

Once she did break away from us for fifteen minutes while she went up to see how Jack was. She came back much relieved.

"He was so glad to see me," she said, "and he kissed me twice. We had such an interesting discussion about the amoeba."

"The what?" asked Frances.

"The amoeba—tiny animalcules, don't you know, that have the power of changing their form and appearance. Jacky thinks that perhaps man, too, in the process of time and evolution might scientifically acquire this—"

"How silly!" laughed my darling. And I thought so too. Of course if a man looked like himself once, he would always look like himself. Any fool knew that!

Later, the judge came to my room, accompanied by Wilkes with some Heidelberg punch, frappÉ.

"Couldn't leave you out of this," he said genially; "besides, wanted to toast your first night under the roof of Wolhurst!

"Hope they're making you comfortable," he went on. "Infernal shame, Lightnut, that I've had to neglect you so; so absurdly busy, you know—you understand?"

I pretended to, for I knew he wanted me to think that, but I had heard the butler tell the frump that the judge was reading.

"Don't expect to retire at all," he continued; "and then there's my promise to my poor boy—I must keep that somehow; never failed on a promise in my life—I mean, you know, about wearing his new pajamas." He shook his head sadly.

"T' be sure!"—and I swallowed hard—Jove, but the very word, "pajamas," gave me cold marrows!

"And, my boy, I haven't forgotten my promise to you, either," he continued, smiling kindly and replenishing my glass to the brim. "I'm still going to have a word with Francis to-night—that is, if they ever get back from that infernal dog-fight—I want to pave the way for you, you know."

"Thanks awfully!" I murmured nervously.

Somehow, I felt mean—always hate to feel mean, dash it—felt almost like a jolly cad, in fact. Couldn't tell him how far Frances and I had progressed already; he might take it out on her, you know. And then, to find out that he didn't know she hadn't gone to the dog-fight after all!

"Well," he sighed, "I will manage it all somehow, even about the pajamas. Perhaps, when the house is quiet, I may—here, have another—oh, yes, you must!—won't hurt you; only a pint or so of rum in the whole mixture. Fine, isn't it? Yes, I think Wilkes is certainly an artist when it comes to a nightcap. Now, let me fill yours again—oh, yes!"—and he did it—"Won't hurt a baby—make you sleep tight, you know!"

And, by Jove, I had to go it!

"Well—" he shifted as if to go, and sent me a smile over his glass's rim, "pleasant dreams!"

And then the door closed behind our "good nights."

Jenkins was studying me somberly.

"Yes, sir," he said presently, when I had made comment about the bully punch. And that was about all I could get out of him, until he was ready to push out the light.

Then he addressed me gloomily:

"Good night, sir," he said with a sickly, feeble smile, "I hope you'll sleep well; and—" he coughed faintly—"and—er—wake up—h'm—all right!"

"Frisky as a—" I bunched my head sleepily into the pillow—"as a jolly—" But the idea wouldn't come!

"Night!" I murmured; and let it go at that!