t basis we won't organize at all.
We're in no hurry. My kid brother's handling it just now, anyhow. I'm
on a vacation, the first I ever had, and not keen upon business, by any
means. In the meantime, let me show you some figures."

Five minutes later, Billy Westlake and his sister and Miss Hastings
drew up to the edge of the group. Young Westlake stood diffidently for
two or three minutes beside Mr. Turner's chair, and then he put his
hand on that summer idler's shoulder.

"Oh, good evening, Mr.--Mr.--Mr.--" Sam stammered while he tried to
find the name.

"Westlake," interposed Billy's father; and then, a trifle impatiently,
"What do you want, Billy?"

"Mr. Turner was to go over with us to the bowling shed, dad."

"That's so," admitted Mr. Turner, glancing over to the porch rail where
the girls stood expectantly in their fluffy white dresses, and nodding
pleasantly at them, but not yet rising. He was in the midst of an
important statement.

"Just you run on with the girls, Billy," ordered Mr. Westlake. "Mr.
Turner will be over in a few minutes."

The others of the circle bent their eyes gravely upon Billy and the
girls as they turned away, and waited for Mr. Turner to resume.

At a quarter past ten, as Mr. Turner and Mr. Princeman walked slowly
along the porch to turn into the parlors for a few minutes of music, of
which Sam was very fond, a crowd of young people came trooping up the
steps. Among them were Billy Westlake and his sister, another young
gentleman and Miss Hastings.

"By George, that bowling tournament!" exclaimed Mr. Turner. "I forgot
all about it."

He was about to make his apologies, but Miss Westlake and Miss Hastings
passed right on, with stern, set countenances and their heads in air.
Apparently they did not see Mr. Turner at all. He gazed after them in
consternation; suddenly there popped into his mind the vision of a
slender girl in green, with mischievous brown eyes--and he felt
strangely comforted. Before retiring he wired his brother to send some
samples of the marsh pulp, and the paper made from it.

CHAPTER III

MR. TURNER APPLIES BUSINESS PROMPTNESS TO A MATTER OF DELICACY

Morning at Meadow Brook was even more delightful than evening. The
time Mr. Turner had chosen for his outing was early September, and
already there was a crispness in the air which was quite invigorating.
Clad in flannels and with a brand new tennis racket under his arm, he
went into the re