“Just as you came in? Why—a large, dark-haired young man?”
“Yes; clean-shaven.”
“Why, that was Quinlan!”
“No,” said Mr. Mitts, with the smile of superior knowledge. “It was Chester, and if I’m not mistaken, he was kissing the cook.”
“Then you are mistaken!” cried Mr. Copernicus; “my cook is as black as the ace of spades. There isn’t a white servant in the house.”
“Why, that’s so!” Mr. Mitts was staggered for the moment. “But—wait a minute—does your man Quinlan speak with a drawl, and just one stutter to the sentence?”
“I think he does,” replied his host; “but—“
“Dudley Chester!” said Mr. Mitts.
“But, my dear Mitts, where did he get the Latin and Greek?”
“He had to learn something at Yale.”