is not well, he is dangerously ill and nobody can see him.'
'I'll tell you what, then,' said Michael. 'I'll make a clean breast of it. I have come down like the opossum, Morris; I have come to compromise.'
Poor Morris turned as pale as death, and then a flush of wrath against the injustice of man's destiny dyed his very temples. 'What do you mean?' he cried, 'I don't believe a word of it!' And when Michael had assured him of his seriousness, 'Well, then,' he cried, with another deep flush, 'I won't; so you can put that in your pipe and smoke it.'
'Oho!' said Michael queerly. 'You say your uncle is dangerously ill, and you won't compromise? There's something very fishy about that.'
'What do you mean?' cried Morris hoarsely.
'I only say it's fishy,' returned Michael, 'that is, pertaining to the finny tribe.'
'Do you mean to insinuate anything?' cried Morris stormily, trying the high hand.
'Insinuate?' repeated Michael. 'Oh, don't let's begin to use awkward expressions! Let us drown our differences in a bottle, like two affable kinsmen. The Two Affable Kinsmen, sometimes attributed to Shakespeare,' he added.
Morris's mind was labouring like a mill. 'Does
