but scantily from the dishes passed,
preserved her customary pose of nervous diffidence. Only Miss Ocky
tried to dispel the settled atmosphere of depression by occasionally
shooting point-blank questions at one or another of her companions--and
toward the end of the meal she did manage to stir up a little
excitement.

"Copley," she addressed the quiet young man across the table. "You've
been out in the great world for several days, what's going on in New
York? Haven't you brought back any news to us country folk?"

"New York?" He roused himself by a palpable effort. "No, Aunt Ocky, I
didn't pick up anything in New York that would interest you. Nothing
much good at the theaters just now. But if you want a piece of local
news I may have one for you. It would be more interesting to you three
than to me. When I got off the train this afternoon there was another
chap who swung off just ahead of me, and I noticed him particularly
because he was so different from anything you'd expect to drop off the
four-sixteen. Tall and well-set-up, dressed like the mirror of
fashion, smooth and polished--and followed by a valet, if you please,
carrying his grips and a bag of golf clubs! Imagine a sight like that
in Hambleton! I thought he'd made a mistake in his station, until I
saw him walk right across the platform to where Adams, the
baggage-master, was standing. He said something and held out his hand,
and old Adams grabbed it and shook it as if he was greeting a prodigal
son. I thought the valet looked a bit shocked! Then this chap tucked
himself and his man and his baggage into one of Brown's jitneys and
drove off like a lord!"

"Who in the world could it have been?" wondered his mother, awakened to
a mild interest at the account of such grandeur in Hambleton. "Did you
ask, Copley?"

"I have my share of vulgar curiosity, mother; I did. As soon as he
disappeared I pounced on old Adams and asked him the name of his swell
friend. He told me that it was Leslie Sherwood, the son of the man who
died last winter--_hullo_!"

He broke off short and looked into the darkness behind him, whence had
come the crash of china as Bates dropped a tray of coffee cups.
Silence succeeded the tragedy, during which they could hear the
butler's muttered ejaculations of horror and distress as he bent to
retrieve the debris.

"Confound you, Bates! You get clumsier every day you live!"

Varr's outburst was swift, but not swift enou