"Yes; it went for naught."
"Well, I am glad to see you, all the same."
"How serious you have become!" broke in Mrs. Ryder. "Don't let's call up old memories. I am sure Mr. Nevins will tell us that those college days weren't so solemn, after all."
Nevins, thus called upon, glanced up from his roast, with accustomed disregard of dangerous ground.
"I can't answer for Mr. Driscoll," he responded. "His fame preceded mine; but the first time I saw Father Algarcife he had just won a whiskey-punch at poker, and was celebrating."
Mrs. Ryder colored faintly in protest, and Driscoll cast an admonishing glance at Nevins, but Father Algarcife laughed good-naturedly, a humorous gleam in his eyes.
"So the sins of my youth are rising to confound me," he said. "Well, I make an honest confession. I was good at poker."
Nevins disregarded Driscoll's glance with unconcern.
"An honest confession may be good for the soul," he returned, "but it seldom redounds to the honor of the reputation."
"Happily, Father Algarcife is above suspicion," remarked Ryder, pleasantly. Then he changed the subject. "By the way, Mr. Nevins, I hear you have been displaying an unholy interest in the coming elections."