It was indeed Morris that stood before them; not the Morris of ordinary

days, but a wild-looking fellow, pale and haggard, with bloodshot eyes,

and a two-days' beard upon his chin.

'The barrel!' he cried. 'Where's the barrel that came this morning?'

And he stared about the lobby, his eyes, as they fell upon the legs of

Hercules, literally goggling in his head. 'What is that?' he screamed.

'What is that waxwork? Speak, you fool! What is that? And where's the

barrel--the water-butt?'

'No barrel came, Morris,' responded Julia coldly. 'This is the only

thing that has arrived.'

'This!' shrieked the miserable man. 'I never heard of it!'

It came addressed in your hand,' replied Julia; 'we had nearly to pull

the house down to get it in, that is all that I can tell you.'

Morris gazed at her in utter bewilderment. He passed his hand over his

forehead; he leaned against the wall like a man about to faint. Then his

tongue was loosed, and he overwhelmed the girl with torrents of abuse.

Such fire, such directness, such a choice of ungentlemanly language,

none had ever before suspected Morris to possess; and the girl trembled

and shrank before his fury.

'You shall not speak to Miss Hazeltine in that way,' said Gideon

The Wrong Box