in a puzzled way, seized Milt's sleeve and rumbled:

"Good-by, old hoss. I'm not going to butt in on your game and get you in
Dutch. Gosh, I never supposed you had enough class to mingle with
elittys like this gang, but I know when I'm in wrong. You were too darn
decent to kick me out. Do it myself. You're best friend I ever had
and---- Good luck, old man! God bless you!"

Bill was gone, running, stumbling, fleeing past Aunt Harriet's cottage,
off into a sandy hilltop vacancy. The last Milt saw of him was when, on
the skyline, Bill stopped for a glance back, and seemed to be digging
his knuckles into his eyes.

Then Milt turned resolutely, marched down the stairs, said to his hosts
with a curious quietness, "Thank you for asking me to dinner, but I'm
afraid I can't come. Claire, will you walk a few blocks with me?"

During the half minute it had taken to descend the steps, Milt had
reflected, with an intensity which forgot Bill, that he had been
selfish; that he had thought only of the opinion of these "nice people"
regarding himself, instead of understanding that it was his duty to save
Claire from their enervating niceness. Not that he phrased it quite in
this way. What he had been muttering was:

"Rotten shame--me so scared of folks' clothes that I don't stand up to
'em and keep 'em from smothering Claire. Lord, it would be awful if she
settled down to being a Mrs. Jeff Saxton. Got to save her--not for
myself--for her."

It may have been Aunt Harriet, it may have been Milt's resolution, but
Mrs. Gilson answered almost meekly, "Well, if you think---- Would you
like to walk, Claire?"

As he tramped off with Claire, Milt demanded, "Glad to escape?"

"Yes, and I'm glad you refused dinner. It really has been wearing, this
trial by food."

"This is the last time I'll dare to meet the Gilsons."

"And I'll have to be going back East. I hope the Gilsons will forgive
me, some day."

"I'm afraid you didn't win them over by Aunt Hatty!"

"No. They're probably off me for life. Oh, these horrible social
complications--worse than any real danger--fire or earthquake----"

"Oh, these complications--they don't exist! We just make 'em, like we
make rules for a card game. What the deuce do we care about the opinions
of people we don't like? And who appointed these people to a fixed
social position? Did the president make Saxton High Cockalorum of
Dress-Suits or something? Why, these are just folks, the same as kings
and