But the lighthouse subject was destined to be postponed for a few minutes.  The person in whose care the Lights had been left during the past twenty hours or so looked at the speaker, then at the other persons present, and suddenly began to laugh.

“What are you laughing at?” asked Miss Graham.  “Why, Russell, what is it?”

Russell Agnew Brooks, alias “John Brown,” ex-substitute assistant at Eastboro Twin-Lights, sank into a chair, shaking from head to heel.

“It is hysterics,” cried Ruth, hastening to his side.  “No wonder, poor dear, considering what he has been through.  Hush, Russell! don’t, you frighten me.  What is it?”

Her fiance waved a reassuring hand.  “It—­it’s all right,” he gasped.  “I was just laughing at . . .  Oh,” pointing an unsteady finger at the lightkeeper, “ask him; he knows.”

“Ask him?” repeated the bewildered young lady.  “Why, Mr. Atkins—­Bascom, I mean—­what. . . .”

And then Seth began to laugh.  Leaning against the doorpost, he at first chuckled and then roared.

“Seth!” cried his wife.  “Seth, you old idiot!  Why, I never see two such loons in my life!  Seth, answer me!  What are you two laughin’ at?”

Seth Atkins Bascom wiped the tears from his eyes.  “I cal’late,” he panted, “I rather guess—­Ho, ho!—­I rather guess we’re both laughin’ at woman-haters.”