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218 action was Henry's to the life. I could see him then, flushing and pulling at his collar thirty years ago at the casual mention of our cousin Mary.

"Chemistry, eh, my fine fellow?" I said encouragingly. "Then perhaps we shall be able to do one or two little experiments together and make a Roscoe of you yet." I should explain that chemistry—serious investigation I mean, of course, although I descended to Bobbie's level for the occasion—is the work to which I have devoted my life.

"Yes," said his father; "it's rather curious, now that I think of it. He was called after you, Robert."

Evidently he was already classing us together! And called after me; one knows what that means in the case of rich uncles.

"Oh, I had forgotten," I replied ingenuously. "Robert Barridge Troves?"

"No; only Robert," he admitted. "I was only referring to that."

"Ah! not Barridge, I thought," I said conclusively. So Bobbie was left on my hands for that delightfully indefinite period referred to as "a few weeks." "You won't find him a nuisance, I am sure," his father had said on leaving. "He has a unique gift of effacing himself completely; and I daresay that you can make him useful in your laboratory." I daresay, but the idea of giving a young ruffian the run of my most expensive instruments did not attract me. Why, the maid servants are never allowed to pass inside the door, and when the most careful Willet cleans the room up once a week it is only under my immediate eye. Nevertheless, I took him up, and standing with him by the door I pointed out the remarkable convenience of all the arrangements and the many delicate and costly instru-