ad been New York's
only means of quick communication!

"Chicago wants you."

Ah--it must be a long-distance from Dallas, who had been sent to
Chicago by his firm to talk over the plan of the Lakeside palace they
were to build for a young millionaire with ideas. The firm always sent
Dallas on such errands.

"Hallo, Dad--Yes: Dallas. I say--how do you feel about sailing on
Wednesday? Mauretania: Yes, next Wednesday as ever is. Our client
wants me to look at some Italian gardens before we settle anything, and
has asked me to nip over on the next boat. I've got to be back on the
first of June--" the voice broke into a joyful conscious laugh--"so we
must look alive. I say, Dad, I want your help: do come."

Dallas seemed to be speaking in the room: the voice was as near by and
natural as if he had been lounging in his favourite arm-chair by the
fire. The fact would not ordinarily have surprised Archer, for
long-distance telephoning had become as much a matter of course as
electric lighting and five-day Atlantic voyages. But the laugh did
startle him; it still seemed wonderful that across all those miles and
miles of country--forest, river, mountain, prairie, roaring cities and
busy indifferent millions--Dallas's laugh should be able to say: "Of
course, whatever happens, I must get back on the first, because Fanny
Beaufort and I are to be married on the fifth."

The voice began again: "Think it over? No, sir: not a minute. You've
got to say yes now. Why not, I'd like to know? If you can allege a
single reason--No; I knew it. Then it's a go, eh? Because I count on
you to ring up the Cunard office first thing tomorrow; and you'd better
book a return on a boat from Marseilles. I say, Dad; it'll be our last
time together, in this kind of way--. Oh, good! I knew you would."

Chicago rang off, and Archer rose and began to pace up and down the
room.

It would be their last time together in this kind of way: the boy was
right. They would have lots of other "times" after Dallas's marriage,
his father was sure; for the two were born comrades, and Fanny
Beaufort, whatever one might think of her, did not seem likely to
interfere with their intimacy. On the contrary, from what he had seen
of her, he thought she would be naturally included in it. Still,
change was change, and differences were differences, and much as he
felt himself drawn toward his future daughter-in-law, it was tempting
to seize this last cha