Mr. Vilas shifted his position in the hammock uneasily; Joe’s honest intentions to be of cheer to the sufferer were not wholly successful.

“I tole Mist’ Richard,” the kindly servitor continued, “it was a mighty good thing his ma gone up Norf endurin’ the hot spell.  Sence Mist’ Will die she can’t hardly bear to see drunkum man aroun’ the house.  Mist’ Richard hardly ever tech nothin’ himself no more.  You goin’ feel better, suh, out in the f’esh air,” he concluded, comfortingly as he moved away.

“Joe!”

“Yessuh.”

Mr. Vilas pulled himself upright for a moment.  “What use in the world do you reckon one julep is to me?”

“Mist’ Richard say to give you one drink ef you ask’ for it, suh,” answered Joe, looking troubled.

“Well, you’ve told me enough now about last night to make any man hang himself, and I’m beginning to remember enough more——­”

“Pshaw, Mist’ Vilas,” the coloured man interrupted, deprecatingly, “you din’ broke nothin’!  You on’y had couple glass’ wine too much.  You din’ make no trouble at all; jes’ went right off to bed.  You ought seen some vem ole times me an Mist’ Richard use to have ’ith Mist’ Will——­”

“Joe!”

“Yessuh.”

“I want three more juleps and I want them right away.”

The troubled expression upon the coloured man’s face deepened.  “Mist’ Richard say jes’ one, suh,” he said reluctantly.  “I’m afraid——­”

“Joe.”

“Yessuh.”

“I don’t know,” said Ray Vilas slowly, “whether or not you ever heard that I was born and raised in Kentucky.”

“Yessuh,” returned Joe humbly.  “I heerd so.”

“Well, then,” said the young man in a quiet voice, “you go and get me three juleps.  I’ll settle it with Mr. Richard.”

“Yessuh.”

But it was with a fifth of these renovators that Lindley found his guest occupied, an hour later, while upon a small table nearby a sixth, untouched, awaited disposal beside an emptied coffee-cup.  Also, Mr. Vilas was smoking a cigarette with unshadowed pleasure; his eye was bright, his expression care-free; and he was sitting up in the hammock, swinging cheerfully, and singing the “Marseillaise.”  Richard approached through the yard, coming from the street without entering the house; and anxiety was manifest in the glance he threw at the green-topped glass upon the table, and in his greeting.

“Hail, gloom!” returned Mr. Vilas, cordially, and, observing the anxious glance, he swiftly removed the untouched goblet from the table to his own immediate possession.  “Two simultaneous juleps will enhance the higher welfare,” he explained airily.  “Sir, your Mr. Varden was induced to place a somewhat larger order with us than he protested to be your intention.  Trusting you to exonerate him from all so-and-so and that these few words, etcetera!” He depleted the elder glass of its liquor, waved it in the air, cried, “Health, host!” and set it upon the table.  “I believe I do not err in assuming my cup-bearer’s name to be Varden, although he himself, in his simple Americo-Africanism, is pleased to pluralize it.  Do I fret you, host?”