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"Two little maids in blue!O-oh—two little maids in blue!Two little, two little, two little maids!O-o-oh! two little maids in blue!"The brogue rolled like an anthem; onelistened for every syllable. As one lookedthrough the open door a lantern, coincidentwith voice and shuffling, cast fantasticlights in unreasonable leaps up anddown the wall. The old board, seven ofthem, were grinning at the astonishmentof the new men. This apparition was notunknown to the elder lords of the LawRecord."It's Mr. Boyle, the night-watchman,"Holloway Byrd, editor in chief, explainedto whom it might concern.Mr. Boyle 55diversions to slave at this job for the sparetime of their days and for half of theirnights. Only fresh strength in its primecould stand the strain on top of the necessarylaw-school work, and to stand it eventhus one must cut out sternly dinners anddances and the pleasure of one's kind.Such a company it was who sat working,scattered at desks about the largeroom, absorbed, responsible, yet eachalive boy under it all, at twelve-thirty of anight in May. The room was quiet. Astorm of wind and rain and thunder hadraged earlier and died down and left theearth steeped in a sullen hush. The boysbent each over his desk, rustled papers,at intervals dropped law-books or turnedleaves; a hum of low voices arose from acorner where one editor read proof to another.Except for such small sounds,there was no sound at all. Into this midnightmonotone came then an interruptionwhich made the busy workers stir andlift their heads as one man. It was theshuffling of feet down the tiled floor ofthe dark corridor outside the office—feetshuffling not listlessly, but as of mirthintent, in the rhythm of a jig. The oldereditors smiled and went on with theirwork; the new board, beginning work today,peered."What the dickens?" asked Cass Emory.And with that there was another sound,a man's voice singing in an undertone,tentative yet clear enough for every wordto be understood, as the sliding, dancingfeet progressed down the hall.is oncest shtopped.The apparition was present. He stoodin the doorway, a robust Irishman offifty, fresh-colored, blue-eyed, grizzledand curly of hair, bursting with good-willto men."Good evenin', me distinguishedfri'nds," he greeted the roomful in deep,sweet tones. And immediately there wasa yell in chorus which proved these wiseyoung Daniels to be, as stated above,alive boys."Good evening, Mr. Boyle," theyshouted, slamming down law-books, shovingaway papers, glad, like boys, of aninterruption in the grind. The new menjoined in the diapason—"Good evening,Mr. Boyle."Mr. Boyle beamed. "An' how are th'young shtatesmen to-noight?" he inquiredcordially, and at once was scrutinizingheavy law-books on the desknearest. He selected one, the largest insize, and, opening it reverently, gazed intoits depths. " Th' law is a fear-rful shtudy.Th' law is an exthry-ardin'ry shtudy,"said Mr. Boyle. "An' don't yez iver gittoird of shtudyin' th' law?""You bet your life we do," respondedBob Esterbrook with a mighty yawn anda stretching of arms. "I'm dead tirednow. Seems about three-thirty. I thinkthat clock's stopped, Mr. Boyle. Whydon't you keep your clocks going?""Me distinguished fri'nd," answeredMr. Boyle with dignity, " 'tis twelve yearsOi've wor-rked in me prisint profishin, an'in all thim years not wan clock of thefor-rty-sivin in the b'ildin's in me chargeThot's what.""I was joking, Mr. Boyle," explainedEsterbrook hurriedly and went on: "Wehave some new friends on the board tonight,you see. Allow me to presentthem." With a hand on the shoulder ofCass Emory, small and round and rosy,"This is Mr. Abraham Lincoln, Jr.," hestated."Is thot so?" Mr. Boyle answeredwith courtesy, with readiness. "Shurean' I see th' family loikeness, sor-r.""And that gentleman is Mr. TheodoreRoosevelt," Esterbrook continued. "Thetall, handsome one is Prince Oon Kakon,of Greece."Mr. Boyle was not abashed. He lookedthe strangers in the eye with friendliness.