is hand to
the boy. "But really, St. George, aren't you a little worried over the
financial outlook? John Gorsuch says we are going to have trouble, and
John knows."

"No"--drawled St. George--"I'm not worried."

"And you don't think we're going to have another smash-up?" puffed
Harding.

"No," said St. George, edging his way toward the steps of the club as
he spoke. He was now entirely through with Harding; his financial
forebodings were as distasteful to him as his comments on his clothes
and bank account.

"But you'll have a julep, won't you? I've just sent John for them. Don't
go--sit down. Here, John, take Mr. Temple's order for--"

"No, Harding, thank you." The crushed ice in the glass was no cooler nor
crisper than St. George's tone. "Harry and I have been broiling in the
sun all the morning and we are going to go where it is cool."

"But it's cool here," Harding called after him, struggling to his feet
in the effort to detain him. There was really no one in the club he
liked better than St. George.

"No--we'll try it inside," and with a courteous wave of his hand and a
feeling of relief in his heart, he and Harry kept on their way.

He turned to mount the steps when the sudden pushing back of all the
chairs on the sidewalk attracted his attention. Two ladies were picking
their way across the street in the direction of the club. These, on
closer inspection, proved to be Miss Lavinia Clendenning and her niece,
Sue Dorsey, who had been descried in the offing a few minutes before by
the gallants on the curbstone, and who at first had been supposed to be
heading for Mrs. Pancoast's front steps some distance away, until the
pair, turning sharply, had borne down upon the outside chairs with all
sails set--(Miss Clendenning's skirts were of the widest)--a shift of
canvas which sent every man to his feet with a spring.

Before St. George could reach the group, which he did in advance of
Harry, who held back--both ladies being intimate friends of Kate's--old
Captain Warfield, the first man to gain his feet--very round and fat was
the captain and very red in the face (1812 Port)--was saying with his
most courteous bow:

"But, my dear Miss Lavinia, you have not as yet told us to what we are
indebted for this mark of your graciousness; and Sue, my dear, you grow
more like your dear mother every day. Why are you two angels abroad at
this hour, and what can we do for you?"

"To the simple fact, my dear captain,"