airy wave
of his hands. "This lion always did refuse to roar to order. If you
really must hear him, you'll have to slip up-stairs and camp outside his
door, waiting patiently for such crumbs as may fall from his table."

"Aren't your metaphors a little mixed?" questioned Cyril irritably.

"Yes, sir," acknowledged Bertram with unruffled temper, "but I don't
mind if Billy doesn't. I only meant her to understand that she'd have to
do as she used to do--listen outside your door."

Billy's cheeks reddened.

"But that is what I sha'n't do," she retorted with spirit. "And,
moreover, I still have hopes that some day he'll play to me."

"Maybe," conceded Bertram, doubtfully; "if the stool and the piano and
the pedals and the weather and his fingers and your ears and my watch
are all just right--then he'll play."

"Nonsense!" scowled Cyril. "I'll play, of course, some day. But I'd
rather not today." And there the matter had ended. Since then Billy had
not asked him to play.

CHAPTER XXV

THE OLD ROOM--AND BILLY

Thanksgiving was to be a great day in the Henshaw family. The Henshaw
brothers were to entertain. Billy and Aunt Hannah had been invited to
dinner; and so joyously hospitable was William's invitation that it
would have included the new kitten and the canary if Billy would have
consented to bring them.

Once more Pete swept and garnished the house, and once more Dong Ling
spoiled uncounted squares of chocolate trying to make the baffling
fudge. Bertram said that the entire Strata was a-quiver. Not but that
Billy and Aunt Hannah had visited there before, but that this was
different. They were to come at noon this time. This visit was not to be
a tantalizing little piece of stiffness an hour and a half long. It was
to be a satisfying, whole-souled matter of half a day's comradeship,
almost like old times. So once more the roses graced the rooms, and
a flaring pink bow adorned Spunkie's fat neck; and once more Bertram
placed his latest "Face of a Girl" in the best possible light. There was
still a difference, however, for this time Cyril did not bring any music
down to the piano, nor display anywhere a copy of his newest book.

The dinner was to be at three o'clock, but by special invitation the
guests were to arrive at twelve; and promptly at the appointed hour they
came.

"There, this is something like," exulted Bertram, when the ladies,
divested of their wraps, toasted their feet before the open fire i