The Grand Secretary, while I was in the post-office, invited me quite informally to participate in the opening exercises, and to assist at the banquet, the benediction, so to speak, of the secret rites.  She said that other prominent gentlemen would receive invitations, and that she was certain the “work” would please and edify.  She expressed much chagrin when I tendered my regret, and amazed me by affirming that Ajax had cordially consented to be present.  This I considered an outrageous breach of good manners upon his part:  if he kept his promise, a number of most worthy and respectable persons would consider themselves insulted; so I advised Miss Birdie not to count upon him.

“I like your big brother,” she said, in her hard, metallic tones; “he is such a man:  he has made quite a conquest of me; for mercy’s sake don’t tell him so.”

I pledged myself to profound secrecy, but walking home the remembrance of an uncanny gleam in her bold black eye put to flight my misgivings.  I decided that Ajax was justified in using “pizon.”

Upon Tuesday afternoon I deemed it expedient to remain at the ranch-house.  About five, Jasperson, arrayed in his best, accompanied Ajax to the village.  The lodge was to open its doors at 7.30; and at ten my brother returned alone, breathless and red in the face, the bearer of extraordinary tidings.  I shall let him tell the story in his own words.

“The whole village,” said he, “has been painted by Jasperson a lovely pigeon-blood red!” Then he sat down and laughed in the most uncontrollable and exasperating manner.

“By Jupiter!” he gasped; “I knew that whisky was wonderful stuff, but I never believed it could turn a worm into a Malay running amok.”  Then he laughed again till the tears rolled down his cheeks.

Between the gusts and gurgles of laughter a few more details leaked out.  I present them connectedly.  The kind reader will understand that allowance must be made for my brother.  He is a seasoned vessel, but no man can drink our village nectar with impunity.

“Of course,” he began, “I knew that, this being his last day, the boys would ask Jasperson to celebrate.  So, mindful, of your precious reputation—­I don’t care a hang about my own—­I kept in the background.  Upon inquiry you’ll find that it is generally conceded that I did my best to prevent what has happened.  And Jasperson was foxey, too.  He hung back, said he was going to join the lodge, and wouldn’t indulge in anything stronger than Napa Soda.  He had three rounds of that.  Then he was persuaded by Jake Williams to try a glass of beer, and after that a bumper of strong, fruity port—­the pure juice of the Californian grape.  That warmed him up!  At a quarter to six he took his first drink of whisky, and then the evil spirits of all the devils who manufacture it seemed to possess him.  In less than half-an-hour he was the centre of a howling crowd, and none howled louder than he.  He set up the drinks again and