"Well--er--Primrose," he
asked, "is there any other asylum in this vicinity?"

"Hey? ASYLUM? What--"

"Never mind. I wondered, that's all. Good-night."

He took the lamp from her hand and went into his room. The amazed
Primmie heard from behind the door of that room a mighty roar of
laughter, laughter loud and long continued. Martha, in her room, heard
it and stirred indignantly. Galusha, in his room, heard it and moaned.

He wondered how, in all the world, there was any one who, on this night
of misery, could laugh.

CHAPTER XXII

There were two people in that house who ate a real breakfast the
following morning. One was Primmie and the other was Augustus Cabot. It
took much, very much, to counteract Miss Cash's attraction toward food,
and as for the Boston banker, the combination of Cape Cod air and
Martha Phipps' cooking had sharpened his appetite until, as he told his
hostess, he was thoroughly ashamed, but tremendously contented.

Martha smiled a faint recognition of the joke. Galusha, sitting opposite
her, did not smile; he was plainly quite unaware that there was humor
anywhere. The little archaeologist looked, so Primmie told Zach later
on, "like one of them wax string beans, thin and drawed-out and yeller."
He kept his gaze fixed on his plate and, beyond wishing her an uncertain
good-morning, not once did he look at or venture to address Martha
Phipps.

While they were at table Lulie came in. Considering all that she had
undergone, the young lady was wonderfully radiant. Her eyes sparkled,
there was color in her cheeks, and Mr. Cabot, who, in his time, had
accounted himself a judge, immediately rated her as a remarkably pretty
girl. Her first move, after greeting the company, was to go straight to
Galusha and take his hand.

"Mr. Bangs," she cried, "how can I thank you? How can Nelson and I ever,
ever thank you?"

Galusha's embarrassment managed to pump a little color into his wan
cheeks. "I--I--ah--dear me, it was nothing," he stammered. "I--I
am--ah--yes, quite so. Please don't mention it."

"But I shall mention it. Indeed, I shall. Why, Martha, do you realize
who was really responsible for father's being so suspicious of Marietta
Hoag last evening? It was Mr. Bangs here, and no one else. Do you
remember I told you that father had been receiving printed things,
booklets and circulars, in the mails for the past few days, and that he
had been reading them and they seemed to agitate him very