mself
actually on the little jerkwater train that was to connect him with the
main line he patted the dusty red plush seat, gratefully, as one would
stroke a faithful beast. When he came into the Grand Central station he
would have stooped and kissed the steps of the marble staircase if his
porter had not been on the point of vanishing with his bags. That night
on reaching home he stayed in the bathtub for an hour, just lying there
in the warm, soothing liquid, only moving to dapple his fingers now and
then as a lazy fish moves a languid fin. God's country! This was it.

"My, it's nice to have you back again, Mr. Sykes," said Mrs. Pet.

"Is your big two-room suite on the next floor vacant?" said Florian,
cryptically.

Mrs. Pet stared a little, wonderingly. "Yes, that's vacant since the
Ostranders left, in July. Why do you ask, Mr. Sykes?"

"Nothing," Florian answered, airily. "Not a thing. Just asked."

His train had come in at nine. It was eleven now, but he was restless,
and a little hungry, and very much exhilarated. "You certainly look
grand," Mrs. Pet had exclaimed, admiringly. "And my, how you're
sunburned!"

He left the Lexington Avenue house, now, and strolled over to the
near-by white-tiled restaurant. There, in the window, was the
white-capped one, flapping pancakes. Florian could have kissed him. He
sat down. A waitress approached him.

"I don't know," mused Florian. "I'm sort of hungry, but I don't
just----"

"The pork and beans are elegant to-night," suggested the girl.

And "Pork and beans! NO!" thundered Florian.

The girl drew herself up icily. "I ain't deef. You don't need to yell."

Florian looked up at her contritely, and smiled his winning smile. "I'm
sorry. I didn't mean--I--I never want to see beans again as long as I
live!"

He was down at the store early, early next morning. His practised eye
swept the department for possible slackness, for changes, for needed
adjustments. The two Maine ex-guides and the chap who knew the Rockies
like the palm of his hand welcomed him with Judas-like slaps on the
shoulder. "Like it?" they asked him. And, "God's country--the West," he
answered, mechanically. After that he ignored them. At nine he ran down
the two flights of stairs to the third floor. He did not wait for the
elevator.

For a moment he could not find her and his heart sank. She might be away
on a vacation. Then he spied her in a corner half-hidden by a rack of
covert coats. She was