not—if it’s butterflies.”
“To see one of the Callidryas species for the first time is indeed a pleasure,” said Peter, beaming with scientific rapture. “Then the Papilios, the Hesperidæ and the red Timitis——”
“Oh, oh!” yawned Philip, stretching himself, “how dry it sounds.”
“Dry!” echoed Peter, indignantly; “the most fascinating pursuit in the world.”
Philip looked kindly at the little man who appeared to be so satisfied with his simple pleasures.
“Decidedly, Peter, you are a happy person. Come with me on a cruise, and I will introduce you to the paradise of butterflies. Tropical America, Peter, where the insects are like flying flowers. Green butterflies, purple beetles, gilded moths——”
“Oh!” cried Peter, opening his eyes with delight, “I should like to go to South America. I would find a peculiar species there, the Heliconidæ. Why, Philip, if only——”
“Hark! there’s the bell,” exclaimed Cassim, rising with alacrity, rather thankful to escape Peter’s lecture. “Is it Jack or Tim?”
“Tim,” said Peter, promptly, “no one else would ring so violently.”
“Where did ye say they were?” cried a hearty Irish voice half way up the stairs.
“That settles it,” remarked Philip, comically, as he opened the door; “no two persons can possess such a strong brogue.”
And Tim it was. Tim, large and burly, roaring like a Bull of Bashan, who hurled himself into the room, and flung himself on Philip’s neck.
“My dear friend! my dear boy!” he thundered, squeezing Cassim in his athletic embrace, “it’s glad I am to see you.”
“Gently, Tim, gently,” gasped Philip, helpless in the hug of this bear; “don’t crush me to a jelly.”
“And Peter!” exclaimed Tim, releasing the baronet to pounce on the doctor, “you fat little man, how splendid you look.”
Warned by the fate of Philip, the doctor skilfully evaded the embrace of the giant, and Tim was only able to demonstrate his affection by a handgrip. He threw all his soul into this latter, and Peter’s face wrinkled up like a monkey’s with pain. It was like a fly struggling with an elephant, and Philip, thoroughly roused from his ordinary placidity, laughed till the tears ran down his cheeks.
“As soon as you’ve quite done murdering us, Tim,” he said, placing a chair between himself and his too demonstrative friend, “perhaps you’ll give your hat and coat to the servant.”
Tim, who had rushed upstairs without pause, meekly delivered the articles in question to the servant, who stood grinning at the door. Looking on this respectful grin as a liberty, Philip frowned at the poor man, who thereupon vanished, while Tim, overcome by his late exertions, fell so heavily into a chair that the room rocked.
“Phew!” he said, wiping his heated brow, “it’s hot. I am, anyhow.”
“That’s scarcely to be wondered at,” returned Cassim dryly, “considering the enthusiasm of your greeting.”
“And why not?” retorted Tim, with the broadest of brogues; “am I not glad to see you both?”
“Of course; and we are glad to see you,” said Peter, examining his crushed hand; “but you needn’t maim us for life.”
Tim roared with laughter in the most unfeeling manner, and Cassim, with a smile, placed his hand on the giant’s shoulder.
“The same noisy Tim as of old,” he said kindly; “you were a large boy, Tim, and now you are a large man. I wouldn’t have recognised you, though, save for the brogue. It’s as strong as ever.”
“That’s true, anyhow,” acknowledged Fletcher placing his huge paw on Philip’s slender hand as it rested on his shoulder. “Wasn’t I but one term at the school, and that didn’t turn it into cockney speaking. Besides, I’ve been to Cork since.”
“To freshen up the accent, I suppose,” said Grench, with the air of a man who has made a cutting remark; “but a special correspondent should know more than one language.”
“Especially if the language is Irish,” finished Cassim, mischievously.
“Get along with you,” replied Tim, with a twinkle in his eye; “why, it’s a polyglot I am, French, Italian, Spanish, and a touch of Arabic. I can tell lies in any one of them. So here you are, lads. Where’s Jack?”
“Lord knows!”
“He was in South America when I heard last; but I’ll go bail he’ll turn up soon. What is the time?”
“Half-past seven,” rejoined Peter, consulting an eminently respectable watch of the family physician species.
Tim took out his piece of paper from a pocket-book commensurate to his size, and smoothed it carefully with his huge hand.
“Seven’s the hour, and Jack’s late. I never knew him early yet.”
“Well, you were not renowned for punctuality at school, Tim!”
“True for you, Philip, and many’s the hearing I’ve had for that same. But this is a special occasion, and Jack should be punctual. Confound him.”
“Oh, he’ll be here shortly,” said Cassim, shrugging his shoulders. “We have plenty to talk about until he arrives. How are you, Tim? But I needn’t ask, you look like the giant Goribuster.”
“Six foot five in my stockings,” replied Tim, complacently; “and a good thing it is for me that same. Special corresponding isn’t knocking about the world in a gentleman’s yacht, sir.”
“Or collecting butterflies,” added Philip, with a sly smile at Peter.
“Are you at that rubbish still, Peter?”
“Of course I am,” answered Peter, in mild surprise; “in fact, since my father left me five hundred a year, I’ve devoted myself entirely to entomology.”
“And to eating!” said Tim, with a grin. “Why, Peter, you’ve a paunch like a priest.”
“Oh, really!” began Peter, scandalised; but his further protestations were drowned in the laughter of Philip, on hearing which Tim nodded approvingly.
“Come now, my dear friend, that’s better. You are more like a Christian than when I last saw you.”
“At Bedford?” inquired Philip, still smiling.
“No! In London—no less. Didn’t I see you at the theatre six months ago, looking for all the world as if you were attending your own funeral?”
“Why didn’t you speak to me?”
“You looked so supercilious and stand-off-the-grass like that I couldn’t
