dependent once more. More than that, when he got fairly well
established in his position (he rather leaned toward the drug or the
restaurant business) he would insist on Nellie giving up her arduous
stage work and settling down to enjoy a life of comfort and
ease--even luxury, if things went as he meant them to go.

One afternoon late in October, when the scarlet leaves were blowing
across his little front yard and the screens had been taken from the
windows, a big green automobile stopped at his gate and a tall man got
out and came briskly up the walk. Harvey was sitting in the library
helping Phoebe with her ABC's when he caught sight of the visitor
crossing the porch.

"Gentleman to see you," said Annie, a moment later.

"Is it the butcher's man? I declare, I must get in and attend to that
little account. Tell him I'll be in, Annie."

"It ain't the butcher. It's a swell."

Harvey got up, felt of the four days' growth of beard on his chin, and
pondered.

"Did he give his name?"

"Mr. Fairfax, he said."

He remembered Fairfax. His hand ran over his chin once more.

"Tell him to come in. I'll be down in fifteen minutes."

He went upstairs on the jump and got his razor out. He was nervous.
Only that morning he had written to Nellie telling her of Phoebe's
expensive illness and of her joyous recovery. The doctor's bill was
ninety dollars. He cut himself in three places.

Fairfax was sitting near the window talking with Phoebe when he
clattered downstairs ten minutes later, deploring the cuts but pleased
with himself for having broken all records at shaving. The big New
Yorker had a way with him; he could interest children as well as their
mothers and grown sisters. Phoebe was telling him about "Jack the
Giant Killer" when her father popped into the room.

"Phoebe!" he cried, stopping short in horror.

Fairfax arose languidly.

"How do you do, Mr.--ah--ahem! The little girl has been playing
hostess. The fifteen minutes have flown."

"Ten minutes by my watch," said Harvey, promptly. "Phoebe, dear, where
did you get that awful dress--and, oh, my! those dirty hands? Where's
Annie? Annie's the nurse, Mr. Fairfax. Run right away and tell her to
change that dress and wash your hands. How do you do, Mr. Fairfax?
Glad to see you. How are you?"

He advanced to shake the big man's hand. Fairfax towered over him.

"I was afraid you would not remember me," said Fairfax.

"Run along, Phoebe. She's been very ill,