fully.

"I suppose I am, Phil. The modern young woman isn't much to pin one's
faith to I am afraid. Do I get another slipper? Or is one enough?"

Phil came back from his mental aberration with a start and a grin at his
own expense.

"I am afraid I am not a very good salesman today," he apologized.
"Honestly I do better usually but you hit me in a vulnerable spot."

"You do care for Carlotta then?" probed Tony.

"Care! I'm crazy over her. I'd go on my hands and knees to Crest House if
I thought I could get her to marry me by doing it."

"You would much better go by train--the next one. That's my advice. Are
you coming to Sue Emerson's dance? That is why I am buying slippers. You
can dance with 'em if you'll come."

"Sorry. I don't go to dances any more."

"That is nonsense, Phil. It is the worst thing in the world for you to
make a hermit of yourself. No girl's worth it. Besides there are other
girls besides Carlotta."

Phil shook his head as he finished replacing Tony's trim brown oxfords.

"Unfortunately that isn't true for me," he said rising. "At present my
world consists of myself bounded, north, south, east and west by
Carlotta."

And Tony passing out under the sign of STUART LAMBERT AND SON a few
minutes later sighed a little. Here was Carlotta with a real man for the
taking and too stubborn and foolish to put out her hand and here was
herself, Tony Holiday, tying herself all up in a strange snarl for the
sake of somebody who wasn't a man at all as Holiday Hill standards ran.
What queer creatures women were!

Other people besides Tony were inclined to score Phil's folly in making a
hermit of himself. His sisters attacked him that very night on the
subject of Sue Emerson's dance and accused him of being a "Grumpy
Grandpa" and a grouch and various other uncomplimentary things when he
announced that he wasn't going to attend the function.

"I'm the authentic T.B.M.," he parried from his perch on the porch
railing. "I've cut out dancing."

"More idiot you!" retorted Charley promptly. "Mums, do tell Phil it is
all nonsense making such an oyster in a shell of himself."

Mrs. Lambert smiled and looked up at her tall young son, looked rather
hard for a moment.

"I think the twins are right, Phil," she said. "You are working too hard.
You don't allow yourself any relaxation."

"Oh, yes I do. Only my idea of relaxation doesn't happen to coincide with
the twins. Dancing in this sort of weather with your