here again in time of need,
had brewed him instead a powerful cup of tea.

XX.--A PRIOR CLAIM

"Come up, come up--you're just the people we want," cried Anthony heartily
from his own porch. "Thought you'd be getting out to see us some of these
fine August nights. Sit down--Juliet will be out in a minute."

"Baby asleep?" asked Judith Carey, as she and Wayne settled comfortably
into two of the deep bamboo chairs with which the porch was furnished.

"To be sure he's asleep at this hour," Anthony assured her proudly; "been
asleep for two hours. Regular as a clock, that youngster. Nurse trained
him right at the beginning, and Juliet has kept it up. Four months old
now, and sleeps from six at night till four in the morning without waking.
How's that?"

"I suppose it's remarkable," agreed Wayne meekly, "but I don't know
anything about it. He might sleep twenty-three hours out of twenty-four--I
shouldn't understand whether to call him a prodigy or an idiot."

"Why, yes, you would," Judith interposed with spirit. "Think of that baby
on the floor above us. They're walking the floor half the night with
her."

"Girl babies may be different," Carey suggested diffidently, at which
Anthony shouted. "I don't care--all the girls I ever knew wanted to sit up
nights," Carey insisted with a feeble grin.

Juliet came out, welcoming her friends with the cordiality for which she
was famous. "It's so hot in town," she condoled with them. "You should get
out into our delicious air oftener. Somehow, with our breezes we don't
mind the heat."

"It's heaven here, anyhow," sighed Carey, stretching back in his chair
with a long breath. Judith looked sober.

"You say it's heaven," commented Anthony, staring hard at his friend, "and
you profess to admire everything we do, and eat, and say, but you continue
to pay good money every week for a lot of extremely dubious comforts--from
my point of view."

"It's one of the very best places in that part of the city," protested
Judith.

Anthony eyed her keenly. "Yes; if that's what you're paying for you've got
it, I admit. If it's a consolation to you to know that the address you
give when you go shopping is one that you're not ashamed of--why, you're
all right. But I reckon Juliet here doesn't blush when she orders things
sent home to the country."

"Oh, Juliet--" began Judith; "she doesn't need an address to make all the
salespeople pay her their most respectful attention. She----"