he same.

How that supper ever got itself cooked and served is a marvel. Everybody
took a turn at the stirring and toasting, everybody contributed a missing
article to the table, and there was much rushing from kitchen to
dining-room, with many collisions and some upsets.

Quin was in the highest of spirits. Even Cass had never seen him quite
like this. With his white apron over his uniform, he pranced about,
dancing attendance on Rose, and keeping Myrna and Edwin in gales of
laughter over his antics. Every now and then, however, his knees got
wabbly and his breath came short, and by the time supper was prepared he
was quite ready to sit down.

"What a shame Nell's not here!" said Rose, breaking the eggs into the
chafing-dish. "Then we could have charades. She's simply great when she
gets started."

"Who is Nell?" asked Quin.

"Eleanor Bartlett, our cousin. She's like chicken and ice-cream--the rich
Bartletts have her on weekdays and we poor Martels get her only on
Sundays. Hasn't Cass ever told you about Nell?"

"Do you suppose I spend my time talking about my precious family?"
growled Cass.

"No, but Nell's different," said Rose; "she's a sort of Solomon's baby--I
mean the baby that Solomon had to decide about. Only in this case neither
old Madam Bartlett nor Papa Claude will give up their half; they'd see
her dead first."

"You did tell me about her," said Quin to Cass, "one night when we were
up in the Cantigny offensive. I remember the place exactly. Something
about an orphan, and a lawsuit, and a little girl that was going to be an
actress."

"That's the dope," said Cass. "Only she's not a kid any more. She grew up
while I was in France. She's a great girl, Nell is, when you get her away
from that Bartlett mess!"

"Does anybody know where Papa Claude is?" Rose demanded, dexterously
ladling out steaming Welsh rabbit on to slices of crisp brown toast.

"He is here, _mes enfants_, he is here!" cried a joyous voice from the
hall, followed by a presence at once so exuberant and so impressive
that Quin stared in amazement.

"This is Quinby Graham, grandfather," said Cass, by way of introduction.

The dressy old gentleman with the flowing white locks and the white rose
in his buttonhole bore down upon Quin and enveloped his hand in both his
own.

"I welcome you for Cassius' sake and for your own!" he declared with such
effusion that Quin was visibly embarrassed. "My grandson has told me of
your long si