nxious, an almost wistful look in his honest blue eyes. He was
unusually but not unbecomingly dressed in faded blue serge trousers,
too tight for the dictates of fashion, but quite telling in their
revelation of his magnificent thighs, tucked into very high wading
boots and topped by a grey flannel blouse open at the neck for
comfort, with a twisted dull green handkerchief by way of a collar. It
was really quite picturesque altogether, and suited him excellently,
as all rough-and-ready, notably masculine attire has always done.
Curiously enough, he combines with this, when in evening clothes, the
least resemblance to a head-waiter I have ever observed in an
American; the price they pay, I suppose, for being quite the best
dressed business and professional men in the world.

I took all this in, of course, in a fraction of the time it takes to
write it, and also the fact that old Roger looked ten years younger
than when I had last seen him. He had always been a steady,
responsible fellow, you see, one of the men people put things on, and
not particularly youthful for his age: a great help to him as a
budding young lawyer.

But now I saw the eyes we used to see on the football field in New
Haven, and even, it seemed to me for a moment, the little worried yet
patient intentness I knew so well at school when some one of those
tiny climaxes (that seemed so terrible then!) depended on him for a
fair solution. They used to say so clearly, those honest eyes, that he
hoped you agreed with him and that you felt his way was the best way,
but that whether or not you agreed, he would have to do it, all the
same.

He had, as I say, his hand out, and I quickly put mine into it,
somehow or other not losing Margarita's at the same time. As
unconsciously as a child she reached out her other hand to him and we
stood like boys and girls in a ring-game, Roger and I looking deep
into each other's eyes and holding Margarita tightly.

"Is it all right, Jerry?" he asked me earnestly.

"It's all right if you say so, Roger," I answered promptly. All our
friendship was packed into that question and answer, and I like to
think that I never asked any explanations and that he never thought of
giving any till they were more or less unnecessary, the matter being
settled.

"You're not alone, I hope?" he said as we moved, one each side of
Margarita, into the house. I dropped her hand abruptly. Up to that
moment I had completely forgotten my sensib