ght walk down
Main Street here at home if they happened to meet. And for that matter
Phil hasn't been depending on her father for amusement over there. She's
been visiting the Fitches--the lawyer Fitch, of Wright and Fitch. Tom's
been offered a place in the firm; they're the best lawyers in Indiana;
and I guess there's nothing the matter with Mrs. Fitch, is there?"

This was not only news, but it was astonishing news. Mrs. Fitch's name
not only guaranteed a scrupulous chaperonage, but the fact that Phil was
a guest in her house was significant of Tom Kirkwood's standing at the
capital and of Phil's social acceptance by a woman whose name was
constantly impressed upon all students of the society columns of the
Indianapolis newspapers.

"The last time I was over I saw Mrs. Fitch in a box at the theater, and
I must say that I couldn't do much for her clothes," remarked Mrs.
Hastings.

"You didn't have to do anything for them," said Amzi amiably. "Here,
Jerry, put that down on the side table."

Jeremiah had appeared with a tray that supported a huge bowl. This
followed established custom: eggnog was always served at these
gatherings of the clan. Amzi sent the darky away and began filling the
glasses, as he liked to serve the tipple himself. The faces of his
brothers-in-law brightened. The persistence with which their wives
fussed about Phil exasperated them, and their attacks upon their niece,
open or veiled, always roused Amzi. And there was nothing whatever to be
gained, as they knew from long experience, by suggesting Phil's
delinquencies. The husbands of Phil's aunts admired Phil; the more the
girl annoyed her aunts, the more they admired her.

"Why doesn't Phil come?" demanded Fosdick. "The circle isn't complete
without her."

Mrs. Waterman had several times during the hour pricked up her ears at
sounds above which she was unable to adjust to her knowledge of Amzi's
_menage_. The step on the floor above was not that of the heavy-footed
Sarah, nor yet that of the shuffling Jeremiah. Sarah could be heard in
the kitchen, and Jeremiah was even now passing cakes and orange juice to
the children at the dining-room table.

"Amzi, who's upstairs?" demanded Mrs. Waterman.

"Upstairs? Thunder! A woman!"

Whereupon Amzi, having handed round the eggnog, stood sipping a glass
contentedly in his favorite post by the hearth.

"A woman upstairs!"

"Yep. She's a woman."

"Amzi!"

Their backs grew rigid. They had never