from force of habit and began turning
the pages of a battered copy of "Elia" she kept tucked away in an alcove
that contained the Indiana Reports. A sign pinned on the door stated
that her father would return in half an hour. This card, which had
adorned the door persistently for several years, had lately ceased to
prophesy falsely, Phil knew, and she thought she heard her father on the
stairs when a young man she did not at once recognize opened the door
and glanced about, then removed his hat and asked if Mr. Kirkwood would
return shortly.

"I'm Mr. Charles Holton," said the visitor.

For a man to prefix "mister" to his own name was contrary to local
usage, and the manner, the voice, the city clothes of Charles Holton at
once interested Phil. She was sitting in her father's old swivel chair,
well drawn in under his big flat-top desk, across which she surveyed the
visitor at leisure. She placed him at once in his proper niche among the
Holtons: it was of him that people were speaking as a Montgomery boy who
was making himself known at the capital. He was the brother of Ethel and
Fred, and clearly an alert and dashing person.

"Pardon me; but I remember you perfectly, Miss Kirkwood. I hope we may
dispense with the formality of an introduction--we old Montgomery
people--and that sort of thing!"

Holton carried a stick, which was not done in Montgomery save by elderly
men, or incumbents of office, like Judge Walters or Congressman
Reynolds. His necktie also suggested more opulent avenues than Main
Street.

"By the outward and visible sign upon the portal I assume that Mr.
Kirkwood will return shortly."

He referred to his watch, absently turned the stem-key, and sat down in
one of the chairs which Phil had lately dusted.

"I used to see you around a lot when I was a boy--you and your pony; but
we've all been away so much--my sister Ethel and I. You know Ethel?"

"I've seen her," said Phil.

"We've just been breaking up our old home here. Rather tough, too, when
you think we're quite alone. We've sold the old house; sorry, but the
best offer I got was from a doctor who wants to turn it into a
drink-cure sanatorium. Tough on the neighbors, but there you are! It
didn't seem square to stand in the way of bracing up booze victims."

He expected her approval of this attitude; and Phil murmured phrases
that seemed to fill the gap he left for them.

"Had to go to the highest bidder--you can hardly give away an old h