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“You, of course,” said Mr. Billings, “with your brown face and big mustache. Your own brother wouldn’t have known you if he had seen you last, as I did, with smooth cheeks and hair of unmerciful length. Why, not even your voice is the same!”

“That is easily accounted for,” replied Mr. Johnson. “But in your case, Enos, I am puzzled to find where the difference lies. Your features seem to be but little changed, now that I can examine them at leisure; yet it is not the same face. But, really, I never looked at you for so long a time, in those days. I beg pardon; you used to be so–so remarkably shy.”

Mr. Billings blushed slightly, and seemed at a loss what to answer.

His wife, however, burst into a merry laugh, exclaiming–

“Oh, that was before the days of the A. C!”

He, catching the infection, laughed also; in fact Mr. Johnson laughed, but without knowing why.

“The `A. C.’!” said Mr. Billings. “Bless me, Eunice! how long it is since we have talked of that summer! I had almost forgotten that there ever was an A. C.”

“Enos, COULD you ever forget Abel Mallory and the beer?–or that scene between Hollins and Shelldrake?–or” (here SHE blushed the least bit) “your own fit of candor?” And she laughed again, more heartily than ever.

“What a precious lot of fools, to be sure!” exclaimed her husband.

Mr. Johnson, meanwhile, though enjoying the cheerful humor of his hosts, was not a little puzzled with regard to its cause.

“What is the A. C.?” he ventured to ask.

Mr. and Mrs. Billings looked at each other, and smiled without replying.

“Really, Ned,” said the former, finally, “the answer to your question involves the whole story.”

“Then why not tell him the whole story, Enos?” remarked his wife.

“You know I’ve never told it yet, and it’s rather a hard thing to do, seeing that I’m one of the heroes of the farce–for it wasn’t even genteel comedy, Ned,” said Mr. Billings. “However,” he continued, “absurd as the story may seem, it’s the only key to the change in my life, and I must run the risk of being laughed at.”

“I’ll help you through, Enos,” said his wife, encouragingly; “and besides, my role in the farce was no better than yours. Let us resuscitate, for to-night only, the constitution of the A. C.”

“Upon my word, a capital idea! But we shall have to initiate Ned.”

Mr. Johnson merrily agreeing, he was blindfolded and conducted into another room. A heavy arm-chair, rolling on casters, struck his legs in the rear, and he sank into it with lamb-like resignation.

“Open your mouth!” was the command, given with mock solemnity.

He obeyed.

“Now shut it!”

And his lips closed upon a cigar, while at the same time the handkerchief was whisked away from his eyes. He found himself in Mr. Billing’s library.

“Your nose betrays your taste, Mr. Johnson,” said the lady, “and I am not hard-hearted enough to deprive you of the indulgence. Here are matches.”

“Well,” said he, acting upon the hint, “if the remainder of the ceremonies are equally agreeable, I should like to be a permanent member of your order.”

By this time Mr. and Mrs. Billings, having between them lighted the lamp, stirred up the coal in the grate, closed the doors, and taken possession of comfortable chairs, the latter proclaimed–

“The Chapter (isn’t that what you call it?) will now be held!”

“Was it in ’43 when you left home, Ned?” asked Mr. B.

“Yes.”

“Well, the A. C. culminated in ’45. You remember something of the society of Norridgeport, the last winter you were there? Abel Mallory, for instance?”

“Let me think a moment,” said Mr. Johnson reflectively. “Really, it seems like looking back a hundred years. Mallory–wasn’t that the sentimental young man, with wispy hair, a tallowy skin, and big, sweaty hands, who used to be spouting Carlyle on the `reading evenings’ at Shelldrake’s? Yes, to be sure; and there was Hollins, with his clerical face and infidel talk,–and Pauline Ringtop, who used to say, `The Beautiful is the Good.’ I can still hear her shrill voice, singing, `Would that I were beautiful, would that I were fair!'”