t nevertheless rather absorbedly.
Really it was only for a fleeting moment, but in that moment they had
each penetrated the husk of the other, had cleaved straight down to the
soul, had estimated and judged for ever and ever, after the ways of men.

"I passed your carryall on the road. It was broke down. It'll be here
in about a half hour, I suppose," insisted the driver, opening the door
of the tonneau still wider, and waving the descending pathway with his
right hand.

Both Mr. Stevens of Boston and Mr. Turner of New York were very glad of
this interruption, for it gave the older gentleman an object upon which
to vent his annoyance.

"Is Meadow Brook on the way to Hollis Creek?" he demanded in a tone
full of reproof for the driver's presumption.

The driver reluctantly admitted that it was.

"I couldn't think of leaving you in this dismal spot to wait for a
dubious carryall," offered Mr. Stevens, but with frigid politeness.
"You are quite welcome to ride with us, if you will."

"Thank you," said Mr. Turner, now climbing out of the machine with
alacrity and making way for the others. "I had intended," he laughed,
as he took his place beside the driver, "to secure just such an
invitation, by hook or by crook."

For this assurance he received a glance from the big eyes; not at all a
flirtatious glance, but one of amusement, with a trace of mischief.
The remark, however, had well-nigh stopped all conversation on the part
of Mr. Stevens, who suddenly remembered that he had a daughter to
protect, and must discourage forwardness. His musings along these
lines were interrupted by an enthusiastic outburst from Mr. Turner.

"By George!" exclaimed the latter gentleman, "what a fine clump of
walnut trees; an even half-dozen, and every solitary one of them would
trim sixteen inches."

"Yes," agreed the older man with keenly awakened interest, "they are
fine specimens. They would scale six hundred feet apiece, if they'd
scale an inch."

"You're in the lumber business, I take it," guessed the young man
immediately, already reaching for his card-case. "My name is Turner,
known a little better as Sam Turner, of Turner and Turner."

"Sam Turner," repeated the older man thoughtfully. "The name seems
distinctly familiar to me, but I do not seem, either, to remember of
any such firm in the trade."

"Oh, we're not in the lumber line," replied Mr. Turner. "Not at all.
We're in most anything that offers a profit. We--