did her best to make it up, for she was a kindly little creature, in spite of her roguishness; but Elihu stood aloof.  Charles urged him still to go out to South Africa, increasing his bait to two thousand a year; yet the doctor was immovable.  “No, no,” he said; “I had half decided to accept your offer—­till that unfortunate impulse; but that settled the question. As an American citizen, I decline to become the representative of a British nobleman who takes such means of investigating questions which affect the hair and happiness of his fellow-creatures.”

I don’t know whether Charles was most disappointed at missing the chance of so clever a superintendent for the mine at Cloetedorp, or elated at the novel description of himself as “a British nobleman;” which is not precisely our English idea of a colonial knighthood.

Three days later, accordingly, the Quackenbosses left the Lakeside Hotel.  We were bound on an expedition up the lake ourselves, when the pretty little woman burst in with a dash to tell us they were leaving.  She was charmingly got up in the neatest and completest of American travelling-dresses.  Charles held her hand affectionately.  “I’m sorry it’s good-bye,” he said.  “I have done my best to secure your husband.”

“You couldn’t have tried harder than I did,” the little woman answered, and the tip-tilted nose looked quite pathetic; “for I just hate to be buried right down there in Kentucky!  However, Elihu is the sort of man a woman can neither drive nor lead; so we’ve got to put up with him.”  And she smiled upon us sweetly, and disappeared for ever.

Charles was disconsolate all that day.  Next morning he rose, and announced his intention of setting out for the West on his tour of inspection.  He would recreate by revelling in Colorado silver lodes.

We packed our own portmanteaus, for Charles had not brought even Simpson with him, and then we prepared to set out by the morning train for Saratoga.

Up till almost the last moment Charles nursed his dispatch-box.  But as the “baggage-smashers” were taking down our luggage, and a chambermaid was lounging officiously about in search of a tip, he laid it down for a second or two on the centre table while he collected his other immediate impedimenta.  He couldn’t find his cigarette-case, and went back to the bedroom for it.  I helped him hunt, but it had disappeared mysteriously.  That moment lost him.  When we had found the cigarette-case, and returned to the sitting-room—­lo, and behold! the dispatch-box was missing!  Charles questioned the servants, but none of them had noticed it.  He searched round the room—­not a trace of it anywhere.

“Why, I laid it down here just two minutes ago!” he cried.  But it was not forthcoming.

“It’ll turn up in time,” I said.  “Everything turns up in the end—­including Mrs. Quackenboss’s nose.”

“Seymour,” said my brother-in-law, “your hilarity is inopportune.”