e simplicity of
dining, the matter-of-course-ness of the service. It was not that Lily
was above him. That was ridiculous. But she was far removed from him.

"There is something wrong with you, Willy," she said unexpectedly. "You
are not happy, or you are not well. Which is it? You are awfully thin,
for one thing."

"I'm all right," he said, evading her eyes.

"Are you lonely? I don't mean now, of course."

"Well, I've got a dog. That helps. He's a helpless sort of mutt. I carry
his meat home from the shop in my pocket, and I feel like a butcher's
wagon, sometimes. But he's taken a queer sort of liking to me, and he is
something to talk to."

"Why didn't you bring him along?"

Dogs were forbidden in the Cardew house, by old Anthony's order, as were
pipes, especially old and beloved ones, but Lily was entirely reckless.

"He did follow me. He's probably sitting on the doorstep now. I tried to
send him back, but he's an obstinate little beast."

Lily got up.

"I am going to bring him in," she said. "And if you'll ring that bell
we'll get him some dinner."

"I'll get him, while you ring."

Half an hour later Anthony Cardew entered his house. He had spent a
miserable evening. Some young whipper snapper who employed a handful of
men had undertaken to show him where he, Anthony Cardew, was a clog in
the wheel of progress. Not in so many words, but he had said: "Tempora
mutantur, Mr. Cardew. And the wise employer meets those changes
half-way."

"You young fools want to go all the way."

"Not at all. We'll meet them half-way, and stop."

"Bah!" said Anthony Cardew, and had left the club in a temper. The club
was going to the dogs, along with the rest of the world. There was only
a handful of straight-thinking men like himself left in it. Lot of young
cravens, letting their men dominate them and intimidate them.

So he slammed into his house, threw off his coat and hat, and--sniffed.
A pungent, acrid odor was floating through a partly closed door. Anthony
Cardew flung open the door and entered.

Before the fire, on a deep velvet couch, sat his granddaughter. Beside
her was a thin young man in a gray suit, and the thin young man was
waving an old pipe about, and saying:

"Tempora mutantur, Lily. The wise employer--"

"I am afraid, sir," said Anthony, in a terrible voice, "that you are
not acquainted with the rules of my house. I object to pipes. There are
cigars in the humidor behind you."

"Very sorry, M