“Here’s my mitt,”—and Imogene laid her delicate little hand in Bill’s big paw.
And thus, over the—no, not the ashes—but the essence of the late Alonzo Leffingwell, Gnani of Gingalee, and Modern Mystic of Low Degree,—was enacted the full and complete reconciliation of Mr. and Mrs. Vanderhook....
“I say, Genesy, girl, it’s supper time, and I’m hungry as a wolf. And say, too, I’m as dry as a fish.”
“Me, too”—murmured Imogene, and clutching up the back of her gown in one hand she laid the other tenderly and confidingly upon her husband’s arm.
And the husband and wife turned from the laboratory and paused in the library. The untouched spread was still on the table.
“What do you say, my dear, to the removal of this cobweb? What would you say to a little ‘Mumm,’ or a ‘High-ball,’ before we go to dinner?”
“Well, Billsey, I’d just say ‘Let’s,’ for I really do feel nervous. But there—goodness gracious! I’ve gone and left that bottle of Lonnie in the laboratory. Oh, well, never mind; I don’t believe he’s much good as essence, anyway. Patchouli’s good enough. Don’t you think so, Billsey?”
········
And close to the cask of copper wire had rolled a tiny vial, rolled and lost itself in the litter thereabouts, a vial on which the double label read as follows:
“Aqua Vitae”