XVIII, though at this moment, observing that the ladies were preoccupied with one of his sons, he paused by the invalid and expertly from a corner of his mouth whispered the coarse words, “Hello, Old Flapdoodle!” From some remnant of sex loyalty he would not address the sufferer thus when his womenfolk could overhear, but the judge could never be sure of the jester’s discretion.  Besides, Dave was from day to day earnestly tutoring the parrot to say the base words, and the judge knew that Polly, once master of them, would use no discretion whatever.  He glared at Dave Cowan in hearty but silent rage.  Dave turned from him to kneel at the feet of Winona.

“‘A book of verses underneath the bow—­’” he began.

Winona shuddered.  She knew what was coming; dreadful, licentious stuff from a so-called poet—­far, far different from dear Tennyson, thought Winona—­who sang the joys of profligacy.  Winona turned from the recitationist.

“What?  Repulsed again?  Ah, well, there’s always the river!  Duchess, bear witness, ’twas her coldness drove me to the rash act—­she with her beauty that maddens all be-holders!”

Winona was shocked, yet not unpleasantly, at these monstrous implications.  She dreaded to have him begin—­and yet she would have him.  She tried to sign to him now that matters were to the fore too grave for clumsy fooling, but he only took the book from her hand to read its title.

“‘Matthew Arnold—­How to Know Him,’” he read.  “Ah, yes!  Ah, yes!  But is he worth knowing?”

“Oh!” exclaimed Winona, wincing.

“No respect for God or man,” mumbled the judge, meaning that a creature capable of calling him Old Flapdoodle could be expected to ask if Matthew Arnold were worth knowing.

The Wilbur twin here thrust the blue jay upon his father with cordial words.  Dave professed to be entranced with the gift.  It appeared that he had always longed for a stuffed blue jay.  He curled a finger to it and called, “Tweet!  Tweet!” a bit of comedy poignantly relished by the donor of the bird.

His father now ceremoniously conducted Mrs. Penniman to what he spoke of as the banqueting hall.  He made almost a minuet of their progress.  Under one arm he carried his bird to place it on the table, where later during the meal he would convulse the Wilbur twin by affecting to feed it bits of bread.  Winona still hungered for details of the day’s tragedy, but Dave must talk of other things.  He talked far too much, the judge believed.  He had just made the invalid uncomfortable by disclosing that the Ajax Invigorator had an alcoholic content of at least fifty-five per cent.  He said that for this reason it would afford temporary relief to almost any one.  He added that it would be cheap stuff, and harmful, and that if a man wished to drink he ought to go straight to Vielhaber’s, where they kept an excellent line of Ajax Invigorators and sold them under their right names.  The judge said “Stuff and nonsense” to this, but the ladies believed, for despite his levity Dave Cowan knew things.  He read books and saw the world.  Only the Wilbur twin still had faith in the invigorator.  He had seen the picture.  You couldn’t get round that picture.