1," "No.

2" "No.

3," and so on, his benevolent intention wavered.

But he pulled himself together and took a plateful, assorted.
"Come on, Porne," he said, "we'll play it's a Sunday school picnic," and he drew himself a cup of coffee, finding hot milk, cream and sugar crystals at hand.

"I never saw a cheap joint where you could fix it yourself, before," he said,--and suspiciously tasted the mixture.
"By jing! That's coffee!" he cried in surprise.