utomaton pussyfoots away.

Oliver still half asleep manages to rise and find slippers and a wrapper
and then pads over to an empty bathroom where he disports himself like
a whale. To his surprise he discovers himself whistling--true, the
sunlight has an excellent shine to it this morning and the air and the
sky outside seem blue and crisp with first fall--but even so.

"Nancy," he murmurs and frowns and finishes his bath rather gloomily--a
gloom which is in no wise diminished when he goes downstairs to find
everybody nearly through lunch and Ted and Elinor, as far away from
each other at the table as possible, quite sure that they are behaving
exactly as usual while the remnants of the house-party do their best to
seem tactfully unconcerned.

Oliver, while managing to get through a copious and excellent lunch in
spite of his sorrows, regards them with the morose pity of a dyspeptic
octogenarian for healthy children. It is all very well and beautiful
for them now, he supposes grimly, but sooner or later even such babes as
they will have to Face Life--Come Up Against Facts--

He is having a second piece of blueberry pie when he is summoned to the
telephone. Rather tiresome of Mother, really, he thinks as he goes out
of the dining-room--something about his laundry again most probably--or
when he is coming back.

"Hello, Oliver?" "Hello, dear. Anything important?"

Mrs. Crowe's voice has a tiny chuckle in it--a chuckle that only comes
when Mrs. Crowe is being very pleased indeed.

"Well, Oliver, that depends--"

"Well, Mother, _honestly_! I'm right in the middle of lunch--"

"Oh, I'll call up again, if you'd rather, Oliver dear." But Mrs. Crowe
for private reasons doesn't seem to be at all ashamed of taking up so
much of her son's very valuable time.

"Only I _did_ think it would interest you--that you'd like to know as
soon as possible."

Impatiently, "Yes. Well?"

"Well--a friend of yours is coming to see you on the three o'clock. A
_rather_ good friend. We thought you'd be back by then, you see, and
so--"

Oliver's heart jumps queerly for an instant.

"_Who_?"

But the imp of the perverse has taken complete charge of Mrs. Crowe.

"Oh--a friend. Not a childhood one--oh, no--but a--good--one, though you
haven't seen each other for--more than three weeks now, isn't it? You
should just be able to make it, I should think, if somebody brought you
over in a car, but of course, if you're so busy--" "_Mother_!