“Is it very horrid of me, Duane?” she asked anxiously, “to find excitement in this sort of thing?  Besides, we do need meat, and the game must be kept thinned down by somebody.  And Scott won’t.”

“Whatever you do is all right,” said Duane, laughing, “even when you jeer at my gymnastics on skis.  Oh, Lord! but I’m hungry.  Scott, are you going to take all those sausages and muffins, you bespectacled ruffian!  Kathleen, heave a plate at him!”

Kathleen was too scandalised to reply; Scott surrendered the desired muffins, and sorted the morning mail, which had just been brought in.

“Nothing for you, Sis, except bills; one letter for Duane, two for Kathleen, and the rest for me”—­he examined the envelopes—­“all from brother correspondents and eager aspirants for entomological honours....  Here’s your letter, Duane!” scaling it across the table in spite of Kathleen’s protest.

They had the grace to ask each other’s permission to read.

“Oh, listen to this!” exclaimed Scott gleefully: 

“DEAR SIR:  Your name has been presented to the Grand Council which has decided that you are eligible for membership in the International Entomological Society of East Orange, N.J., and you have, therefore, been unanimously elected.

    “Have the kindness to inform me of your acceptance and inclose your
    check for $25, which includes your dues for five years and a free
    subscription to the society’s monthly magazine, The Fly-Paper——­”

“Scott, don’t do it.  You get one of those kind of things every day!” exclaimed Geraldine.  “They only want your $25, anyway.”

“It’s an innocent recreation,” grinned Duane.  “Why not let Scott append to his signature—­’M.I.E.S.E.O.N.J.’—­Member International Entomological Society, East Orange, New Jersey.  It only costs $25 to do it——­”

“That’s all right,” said Scott, reddening, “but possibly they may have read my paper on the Prionians in the last Yonkers Magazine of Science.  It wasn’t a perfectly rotten paper, was it, Kathleen?”

“It was mighty clever!” she said warmly.  “Don’t mind those two scoffers, Scott.  If you take my advice you will join this East Orange Society.  That would make six scientific societies he has joined since Christmas,” she continued, turning on Duane with severe pride; adding, “and there’s a different coloured ribbon decoration for his buttonhole from each society.”

But Duane and Geraldine were very disrespectful; they politely offered each other memberships in all sorts of societies, including one yard of ribbon decoration, one sleigh-bell, and five green trading stamps, until Scott hurled an orange at Duane, who caught it and blew a kiss at him as recompense.

Then they went outside, on Scott’s curt invitation, and wrestled and scuffled and scrubbed each other’s faces with snow like schoolboys, until, declaring they were hungry again, they came back to the breakfast-room and demanded more muffins and sausages and coffee.