nce had suddenly ended; and later Larry's
mother had married elsewhere. But the snuffed-out romance had made
no difference in the friendship between the Duchess and Joe; each had
recognized the other as square, as that word was understood in their
border world.

To Joe Ellison the Duchess was changed but little since twenty-odd years
ago. She had seemed old even then; though as a youth he had known old
men who had talked of her beauty when a young woman and of how she
had queened it among the reckless spirits of that far time. But to the
Duchess the change in Joe Ellison was astounding. She had last seen
him in his middle thirties: black-haired, handsome, careful of dress,
powerful of physique, dominant, fiery-tempered, fearless of any living
thing, but with these hot qualities checked into a surface appearance of
unruffled equanimity by his self-control and his habitual reticence. And
now to see him thin, white-haired, bent, his old fire seemingly burned
to gray ashes--the Duchess, who had seen much in her generations, was
almost appalled at the transformation.

At first the Duchess skillfully guided the talk among commonplaces.

"Larry tells me you're out with him."

"Yes," said Joe. "Larry's been a mighty good pal."

"What're you going to do when you get back your strength?"

"The same as I'm doing now--if they'll let me."

And after a pause: "Perhaps later, if I had the necessary capital, I'd
like to start a little nursery. Or else grow flowers for the market."

"Not going back to the old thing, then?"

Joe shook his white head. "I'm all through there. Flowers are a more
interesting proposition."

"Whenever you get ready to start, Joe, you can have all the capital
you want from me. And it will cost you nothing. Or if you'd rather pay,
it'll cost you the same as at a bank--six per cent."

"Thanks. I'll remember." Joe Ellison could not have spoken his gratitude
more strongly.

The Duchess now carefully guided the talk in the direction of the thing
of which she had thought so constantly.

"By the way, Joe, Larry told me something about you I'd never heard
before--that you had been married, and had a child."

"Yes. You didn't hear because I wasn't telling anybody about it when it
happened, and it never came out."

"Mind telling me about it, Joe?"

He pulled at his perfecto while assembling his facts; and then he
made one of the longest speeches Joe Ellison--"Silent Joe" some of his
friends had called