had gone.

He was quite happy and contented. He spent all afternoon in a roller
chair, conversing affably with the man who pushed him, and now and
then when Lucy was out of sight getting out and stretching his legs. He
picked up lost children and lonely dogs, and tried his eye in a shooting
gallery, and had hard work keeping off the roller coasters and out of
the sea.

Then, one day, when he had been gone some time, he was astonished on
entering his hotel to find Harrison Miller sitting in the lobby. David
beamed with surprise and pleasure.

"You old humbug!" he said. "Off on a jaunt after all! And the contempt
of you when I was shipped here!"

Harrison Miller was constrained and uncomfortable. He had meant to see
Lucy first. She was a sensible woman, and she would know just what David
could stand, or could not. But David did not notice his constraint; took
him to his room, made him admire the ocean view, gave him a cigar, and
then sat down across from him, beaming and hospitable.

"Suffering Crimus, Miller," he said. "I didn't know I was homesick until
I saw you. Well, how's everything? Dick's letters haven't been much, and
we haven't had any for several days."

Harrison Miller cleared his throat. He knew that David had not been
told of Jim Wheeler's death, but that Lucy knew. He knew too from Walter
Wheeler that David did not know that Dick had gone west. Did Lucy know
that, or not? Probably yes. But he considered the entire benevolent
conspiracy an absurdity and a mistake. It was making him uncomfortable,
and most of his life had been devoted to being comfortable.

He decided to temporize.

"Things are about the same," he said. "They're going to pave Chisholm
Street. And your Mike knocked down the night watchman last week. I got
him off with a fine."

"I hope he hasn't been in my cellar. He's got a weakness, but
then--How's Dick? Not overworking?"

"No. He's all right."

But David was no man's fool. He began to see something strange in
Harrison's manner, and he bent forward in his chair.

"Look here, Harrison," he said, "there's something the matter with you.
You've got something on your mind."

"Well, I have and I haven't. I'd like to see Lucy, David, if she's
about."

"Lucy's gadding. You can tell me if you can her. What is it? Is it about
Dick?"

"In a way, yes."

"He's not sick?"

"No. He's all right, as far as I know. I guess I'd better tell you,
David. Walter Wheeler has got some sort o