'd rather you saw for yourself. In fact, I think we'll give up any
idea of Olive, for the afternoon, and telephone to Brenton to come and
take you for a walk. Telephone him yourself, for that matter."

"He may be busy."

"Not he. He has a curate now to do his routine work, and he frisks
about, a good deal as he pleases. Poor beggar! He takes his very
frisking sadly, nowadays. And then, after you've nailed him, would you
call up Olive, nine-two-three, and tell her I'm to be abandoned, all
afternoon. She may take the hint."

"Shall you tell her things, Reed?"

"Not yet?" Reed spoke crisply.

"Why not? I fancy she'd be one to understand."

"So she would. She always does, always has done, ever since she was
born, and we all take it out of her accordingly, a good deal as we take
it out of you. However, I don't want her to know it, yet awhile. I'd
prefer to understand the thing a little better, myself, before I pass
it on. And, of course, you won't speak of it to Brenton?"

And Whittenden shook his head. He shook it with the more surety,
because of his old-time memories of Brenton, the lank, ill-nourished
youth with the crude manners and the lambent eyes. One did not tell
things to a man like that; one merely listened, and then gave advice.
That was really all. And then, his telephoning finished, Whittenden
fell to wondering into what sort of a man Scott Brenton, the embryo,
had turned. The voice was reassuring, also the accent. Both spoke of
vast improvement in their owner.

Two hours later, Whittenden, balancing himself on the window sill at
Opdyke's side, glanced down at the walk below him, as he heard a step
draw near.

"You don't suppose that can be Brenton!" he exclaimed. "It looks like
him; but, ye immortals, how he's changed!"

"Haven't we all?" Reed queried dryly.

"Not so much. Why, man, he's actually groomed, and he walks without
stepping on the edges of his own boots. Brenton!" He leaned out of the
window, calling like a boy, "Hi, Brenton! Is it really you?"

And so they met, after the years. Moreover, meeting, it was as if the
years they had spent apart from each other, instead of increasing the
distance between them, had brought them to a closer contact than any of
which they hitherto had dreamed.

According to their former custom, they tramped for miles, that afternoon,
and talked as steadily as they tramped. At first sight, Whittenden had
been delighted at the change in his companion; at a seco