While the feast of reason and flow of soul had been in progressin the drawing-room, in the gymnasium on the top floor JerryMitchell, awaiting the coming of Mr. Pett, had been passing thetime in improving with strenuous exercise his already impressivephysique. If Mrs. Pett's guests had been less noisilyconcentrated on their conversation, they might have heard themuffled _tap-tap-tap_ that proclaimed that Jerry Mitchell waspunching the bag upstairs.

　　It was not until he had punched it for perhaps five minutes that,desisting from his labours, he perceived that he had the pleasureof the company of little Ogden Ford. The stout boy was standingin the doorway, observing him with an attentive eye.

　　"What are you doing?" enquired Ogden.

　　Jerry passed a gloved fist over his damp brow.

　　"Punchin' the bag."He began to remove his gloves, eyeing Ogden the while with adisapproval which he made no attempt to conceal. An extremist onthe subject of keeping in condition, the spectacle of the bulbousstripling was a constant offence to him. Ogden, in pursuance ofhis invariable custom on the days when Mrs. Pett entertained, hadbeen lurking on the stairs outside the drawing-room for the pasthour, levying toll on the food-stuffs that passed his way. Hewore a congested look, and there was jam about his mouth.

　　"Why?" he said, retrieving a morsel of jam from his right cheekwith the tip of his tongue.

　　"To keep in condition.""Why do you want to keep in condition?"Jerry flung the gloves into their locker.

　　"Fade!" he said wearily. "Fade!""Huh?""Beat it!""Huh?" Much pastry seemed to have clouded the boy's mind.

　　"Run away.""Don't want to run away."The annoyed pugilist sat down and scrutinised his visitorcritically.

　　"You never do anything you don't want to, I guess?""No," said Ogden simply. "You've got a funny nose," he addeddispassionately. "What did you do to it to make it like that?"Mr. Mitchell shifted restlessly on his chair. He was not a vainman, but he was a little sensitive about that particular item inhis make-up.

　　"Lizzie says it's the funniest nose she ever saw. She says it'ssomething out of a comic supplement."A dull flush, such as five minutes with the bag had been unableto produce, appeared on Jerry Mitchell's peculiar countenance. Itwas not that he looked on Lizzie Murphy, herself no LillianRussell, as an accepted authority on the subject of facialbeauty; but he was aware that in this instance she spoke notwithout reason, and he was vexed, moreover, as many another hadbeen before him, by the note of indulgent patronage in Ogden'svoice. His fingers twitched a little eagerly, and he lookedsullenly at his tactless junior.

　　"Get out!""Huh?""Get outa here!""Don't want to get out of here," said Ogden with finality. He puthis hand in his trouser-pocket and pulled out a sticky mass whichlooked as if it might once have been a cream-puff or a meringue.

　　He swallowed it contentedly. "I'd forgotten I had that," heexplained. "Mary gave it to me on the stairs. Mary thinks you'vea funny nose, too," he proceeded, as one relating agreeablegossip.

　　"Can it! Can it!" exclaimed the exasperated pugilist.

　　"I'm only telling you what I heard her say."Mr. Mitchell rose convulsively and took a step towards hispersecutor, breathing noisily through the criticised organ. Hewas a c............