Mr. Bottles and glasses usurped the place of dishes and plates. "Close the wicket, Austin," vociferated Ireton, in an authoritative tone. Not that he deliberately courted danger; it was rather the searcher, seeking analysis, the why and wherefore of this or that invading emotion. The great gray boles of the palms reminded him of some fabulous Grecian temple. But the crowning glory of Jonathan, that which raised him above all his predecessors in iniquity, and clothed this name with undying notoriety—was to come. Then his tiny bow mouth opened into an adoring smile.
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