is special favorite. His special
favorite," she repeated sternly, as she met her husband's wavering eye.

"Oh, the lavender foulard!" exclaimed Mr. Hornblower, with an
unsuccessful attempt to give the impression that only at that moment
had he discovered what they were talking about. "The lavender foulard,
to be sure." He cut himself an enormous slice from the boiled beef and
bowed his head over his plate, as if offering thanks for an excuse to
retire gracefully from the conversation.

But this did not agree with Mrs. Hornblower's intentions. "Tired,
ain't you, Robert?" Her solicitude was so marked as to suggest an
ulterior motive.

"I guess this is about as busy a time of year as any," commented Persis.

And Mr. Hornblower, having now reached a point in his struggle with the
boiled beef where he could make himself intelligible, began
ponderously, "Oh, as far as that goes--"

"Robert realizes that he ain't as young as he was," said Mrs.
Hornblower, taking the words from his mouth. "While he's not an old
man yet, he feels that he's done his share of work. If there's a good
time waiting for him, he means to get to it before he's so old it won't
do him any good."

"Sometimes I think," observed Persis sententiously, "that enjoying
one's self's a good deal like jam. You spread it on bread and butter,
and you can eat a sight of it. But if you set down to a pot of jam and
nothing else, it turns your stomach in no time."

The sudden illumination of Mr. Hornblower's heavy features indicated
that he had grasped Persis' metaphor. He broke out eagerly. "Now,
that's just what I was saying to my wife. If a man--"

"Robert looks at it this way," explained Mrs. Hornblower, deftly
cutting in. "He says he couldn't enjoy himself just idling, but he
don't look on travel and improving his mind in that light. Robert
feels that enlarging your horizon, and getting culture and polish is a
part of anybody's duty. Robert feels real strongly on that subject,"
concluded Mrs. Hornblower, looking hard at her husband, as if defying
him to deny it.

The worm made a visible effort to turn. "Whatever you may say about
Clematis," said Mr. Hornblower, apparently with the full intention of
paying an impassioned tribute to his native town. But again the
supports were cut from beneath his feet, and he was left dangling in
midair.

"Robert thinks as well of Clematis as anybody," Mrs. Hornblower
acknowledged generously. "He's got