the
red in the tapestries and screens and pillows."

"I wanted it to look studioish a little," David explained, "I wanted
to get away from Louis Quartorze."

"And drawing-rooms like mother used to make," Gertrude suggested. "I
like your Oriental touches. Do you see, Margaret, everything is Indian
or Chinese? The ubiquitous Japanese print is conspicuous by its
absence."

"I've got two portfolios full of 'em," David said, "and I always have
one or two up in the bedrooms. I change 'em around, you know, the way
the Japs do themselves, a different scene every few days and the rest
decently out of sight till you're ready for 'em."

"It's like a fairy story," Margaret said.

"I thought you'd appreciate what little Arabian Nights I was able to
introduce. I bought that screen," he indicated a sweep of Chinese line
and color, "with my eye on you, and that Aladdin's lamp is yours, of
course. You're to come in here and rub it whenever you like, and your
heart's desire will instantly be vouchsafed to you."

"What will Eleanor say?" Peter suggested, as David led the way through
the corridor and up the tiny stairs which led to the more intricate
part of the establishment. "This is her room, didn't you say, David?"
He paused on the threshold of a bedroom done in ivory white and
yellow, with all its hangings of a soft golden silk.

"She once said that she wanted a yellow room," David said, "a
daffy-down-dilly room, and I've tried to get her one. I know last
year that Maggie Lou child refused to have yellow curtains in that
flatiron shaped sitting-room of theirs, and Eleanor refused to be
comforted."

A wild whoop in the below stairs announced Jimmie; and Beulah arrived
simultaneously with the tea tray. Jimmie was ecstatic when the actual
function of the place was explained to him.

"Headquarters is the one thing we've lacked," he said; "a place of our
own, hully gee! It makes me feel almost human again."

"You haven't been feeling altogether human lately, have you, Jimmie?"
Margaret asked over her tea cup.

"No, dear, I haven't." Jimmie flashed her a grateful smile. "I'm a bad
egg," he explained to her darkly, "and the only thing you can do with
me is to scramble me."

"Scrambled is just about the way I should have described your behavior
of late,--but that's Gertrude's line," David said. "Only she doesn't
seem to be taking an active part in the conversation. Aren't you
Jimmie's keeper any more, Gertrude?"

"Not since