but her eyes radiant with sweetness, and her hair appealingly
soft and brown above her wide, calm forehead. She was gowned in
lavender crepe de Chine, with panniers of satin elaborately sprinkled
with little bunches of futurist flowers; long jet earrings; a low-cut
neck that hinted of a comfortable bosom. Eyes shining, hands firm on
his arm, voice ringing, she was unaffectedly glad to see him--her
childhood playmate, whom she had not beheld for seven years.

Mrs. Cowles was waiting for them to finish their greetings. Carl was
startled to find Mrs. Cowles smaller than he had remembered, her hair
nearly white and not perfectly matched, her face crisscrossed with
wrinkles deeper than her age justified. But her old disapproval of
Carl, son of a carpenter and cousin of a "hired girl," was gone. She
even laughed mildly, like a kitten sneezing. And from a room somewhere
beyond Ray shouted:

"Be right there in a second, old man. Crazy to have a look at you."

Carl did not really see the living-room, their background. Indeed, he
never really saw it. There was nothing to see--chairs and a table and
pictures of meadows and roses. It was comfortable, however, and had
conveniences--a folding card-table, a cribbage-board, score-pads for
whist and five hundred; a humidor of cigars; a large Morris chair and
an ugly but well-padded couch of green tufted velvetine.

They sat about in chairs, talking.

Ray came in, slapped Carl on the back, roared: "Well, here's the
stranger! Holy Mike! have you got a mustache, too? Better shave it off
before Gert starts kidding you about it. Have a cigar?"

Carl felt at home for the first time in a year; for the first time
talked easily.

"Say, Gertie, tell me about my folks, and Bone Stillman."

"Why, I saw your father just before we left, Carl. You know he still
does quite a little business. We got your mother to join the Nautilus
Club--she doesn't go very often; but she had a nice paper about 'Java
and Its Products,' and she helps us a lot with the rest-room. I
haven't seen Mr. Stillman for a long, long time. Ray, what has----"

Ray: "Why, I think old Bone's off on some expedition 'r other. Fellow
told me Bone was some kind of a forest ranger or mine inspector, or
some darn thing, up in the Big Woods. He must be pretty well along
toward seventy now, at that."

Carl: "So dad's getting along well. His letters aren't very
committal.... Oh, say, Gertie, what ever became of Ben Rusk? I've lost