"You must have had a hard night's journey, papa," Charlotte said, as they all sat down at the table, and Marie brought in the eggs.

"Yes, I had a very hard night," Carroll replied, still with a curious gravity.

Charlotte regarded him anxiously. "Why, papa," she said, "aren't you well?"

"Very well indeed, honey," Carroll replied, and he smiled then.

The others looked at him. "Why, papa, you _do_ look sick!" cried Ina.

"Arthur, dear, you look as if you had been ill a month, and I never noticed it till now, I was so glad to see you," cried Mrs. Carroll.

Suddenly she jumped from her seat and pa.s.sed behind her husband's chair and drew his head to her shoulder. "Arthur, dearest, are you ill?"

"No, I am not, sweetheart."

"But, Arthur, you have lost twenty pounds!"

"Nonsense, dear!"

"Haven't you had anything to eat, papa?" Eddy asked, with sharp sidewise eyes on his father.

Then Anna Carroll spoke. "Can't you see that Arthur wants his breakfast?" said she, and in her tone was a certain impatience and pity for her brother.

Major Arms, however, was not a man to take a hint. He also was scrutinizing Carroll. "Arthur," he suddenly exclaimed, "what on earth is the matter, lad? You do look pretty well knocked up."

Carroll loosened his wife's arm and gave her an exceedingly gentle push. He laughed constrainedly at the same time. "Anna is about right," he said. "I am starved. Wait until I have eaten my breakfast before you pa.s.s judgment on my appearance."

"Haven't you eaten anything since you left Chicago, papa?" asked Ina.

"Never mind, dear," he replied, in an odd, curt tone, and she looked a little grieved.

"Did you come on the flyer, papa?" asked Eddy. "What are you nudging me for, Charlotte?"

"Papa doesn't want any more questions asked. He wants his breakfast,"

said Charlotte.

"No, I did not come on the flyer," Carroll answered, in the same curt tone. Then for a moment there was silence, and Carroll ate his breakfast.

It was Major Arms who broke the silence. "You got in last night," he said, with scarcely an inflection of interrogation.

But Carroll replied, "I was in the hotel at midnight."

"We have been frightfully busy since you left, Arthur dear," said Mrs. Carroll. "It is a tremendous undertaking to make a wedding."

"How do the preparations go on?" asked Carroll, while Ina bent over her plate with a half-annoyed, half-pleased expression.

"Very well," replied Mrs. Carroll. "Ina's things are lovely, and the dressmaker is so pleased that we gave her the trousseau. It will be a lovely wedding."

"Where have you been all the week?" Carroll asked of Arms, who was gazing with an utter openness of honest delight at Ina.

"Here some of the time, and in New York. I had to run up to Albany on business for two days. I got home Wednesday night too late to come out here, and I went into Proctor's roof-garden to see the vaudeville show."

"Did you?" remarked Carroll, in an even voice. He sugared his cereal more plentifully.

"Yes. I had the time on my hands. It was a warm night and I did not feel like turning in, and I was trailing about and the lights attracted me. And, by Jove! I was glad I went in, for I saw something that carried me back--well, I won't say how many years, for I'm trying to be as much of a boy as I can for this little girl here--but, by Jove! it did carry me back, though."

"What was it?" asked Charlotte.

"Well, dear, it was nothing except a dance by a n.i.g.g.e.r. Maybe you wouldn't have thought so much of it. I don't know, though; it did bring down the house. He was called back I don't know how many times.

It was like a dance an old fellow on my father's plantation used to dance before the war. Arthur, you must have seen old Uncle Noah dance that. Why, now I think of it, you used to dance it yourself when you were a boy, and sing for the music just the way he did. Don't you remember?"

Carroll nodded laughingly, and went on eating.

"Used to--I guess you did! I remember your dancing that at Bud Hamilton's when Bud came of age. Old Noah must have been gone then.

It was after the war."

"Oh, papa," cried Eddy, in a rapture, "do dance it sometime, won't you?"

"I'll tell you what we will all do," cried Major Arms, with enthusiasm, "we'll all go to the City to-morrow night, and we'll see that dance. I tell you it's worth it. It's a queer thing, utterly unlike anything I have ever seen. It is a sort of cross between a cake-walk and an Indian war-dance. Jove! how it carried me back!"

Arms began to hum. "That's it, pretty near, isn't it, Arthur?" he asked.

"Quite near, I should say," replied Carroll.

"Oh, papa, won't you sing and dance it after breakfast?" cried Eddy.

"Now, hush up, my son," said Arms. "Your father has the dignity of his position to support. A gentleman doesn't dance n.i.g.g.e.r dances when he is grown up and the head of a family. It's all very well when he is a boy. But we'll all go to New York to-morrow night and we'll see that dance."

"There is a great deal to do," Anna Carroll remarked.

"Nonsense!" said the major. "There's time enough. Where are the Sunday papers? I'll see if it is on to-morrow. Have they come yet?"

"I am going down to get shaved, and I will bring them up," Carroll said.

"Don't they bring them to the door in Banbridge?" asked Arms, wonderingly.

"They used when we first came here," said Eddy. "I guess--" Then he stopped in obedience to a look from his aunt.

"I will bring them when I come home," repeated Carroll.

"Well, we'll all go in to-morrow night, and we'll see that dance,"

said the major.

But when Carroll, on his return from the barber's shop, brought the papers, Major Arms discovered, much to his disappointment, that that particular attraction had been removed from the roof-garden. There was a long and flattering encomium of the song and dance which upheld him in his enthusiasm.

"Yes, it was a big thing; you can understand by what it says here,"

said he, "I was right. I'm mighty sorry it's off."