s not reclaimed it becomes yours
automatically. My wedding present. Remember, next winter, if God wills,
you'll come and visit me."

"As if we could forget!" cried Kitty, embracing Cutty, who accepted the
embrace stoically. "I'll be needing clothes, and Johnny will have to
have his hair cut. Oh, Cutty, I'm so foolishly happy!"

"Time we started for the choo-choo. Time-tables have no souls. But,
Lord, what a racket we've had!"

"Well, rather!"--from Hawksley.

"Bo, listen to me. Out there you must remember that 'bally' and
'ripping' and 'rather' are premeditated insults. Gee-whiz! but I'd
like a look-see when you say to your rough-and-readies: 'Bally rotten
weather. What?' They'll shoot you up."

More banter; which fooled none of the three, as each understood the
other perfectly. The hour of separation was at hand, and they were
fortifying their courage.

"Funny old top," was Hawksley's comment as they stood before the train
gate. "Three months gone we were strangers."

"And now--" began Cutty.

"With hoops of steel!" interrupted Kitty. "You must write, Cutty, and
Johnny and I will be prompt."

"You'll get one from the Azores."

"Train going west!"

"Good luck, children!" Cutty pressed Hawksley's hand and pecked at
Kitty's cheek. "Shan't go through with you to the car. Kuroki is
waiting. Good-bye!"

The redcaps seized the luggage, and Hawksley and his bride followed them
through the gate. Because he was tall Cutty could see them until they
reached the bumper. Funny old world, for a fact. Next time they met the
wounds would be healed--Hawksley's head and old Cutty's heart. Queer how
he felt his fifty-two. He began to recognize one of the truths that had
passed by: One did not sense age if one ran with the familiar pack.
But for an old-timer to jog along for a few weeks with youth! That was
it--the youth of these two had knocked his conceit into a cocked hat.

"Poor dear old Cutty!" said Kitty.

"Old thoroughbred!" said Hawksley.

And there you were, relegated to the bracket where the family kept the
kaleidoscope, the sea-shell, and the album. His children, though; from
now on he would have that interest in life. The blessed infant--Molly's
girl--taking a sunbonnet when she might have worn a tiara! And that boy,
stepping down from the pomp of palaces to the dusty ranges of Bar-K.
An American citizen. It was more than funny, this old top; it was stark
raving mad.

Well, he had one of the drums. It repo