because I saw you take them
off last night. I wouldn't be certain otherwise. And it's the same
way with all your things. Just look at this room! A nice place to
receive callers in, now ain't it?"

That was the first lead he tendered them, but Steve, rather than
gratify him with a direct question, chose to go forward in the dark.
He leaned over and followed his usual custom when he wanted to think.
He tapped out his pipe.

"But I can always find everything," he defended, "that is, unless you
have taken the trouble to put things away. Then it's a toss-up that
something or other will never be found, until it turns up of its own
accord. It's not so bad, Joe." He, too, swung to survey the room.
"Not so bad! Just a little unsettled, that's all. Are we likely to
have any callers, do you think, who would object to this layout?"

Joe snorted, but his eyes were mournful. He knew that there was
nothing else to do but yield, a part at least.

"We ain't likely to," he murmured. "We're just naturally bound to have
'em. They're comin' in to-morrow, and I ask you again, ain't this a
pleasing prospect to greet 'em?"

For all that he seemed to be staring ruefully down the room, he was
watching for the surprise that darted across Steve's face. Momentarily
the latter had forgotten his assumed air of placidity.

"To-morrow? Who?" And then Steve laughed. "Go ahead and tell us,
Joe. I'm beat! I'll admit that I'm panting with curiosity."

Joe pulled up a chair and dropped into it. It appealed to him--this
method--whenever he had the time to spare. His pink face was still
innocent of guile.

"I don't mind the men-folks," he resumed. "That fat party, I mean, who
wears the plaid suits, nor Caleb Hunter, either. Both of them are used
to such truck as this. And I reckon it'll tickle the ladies, too. But
I can see Honey sticking his nose in the air and sniffin', supercilious
like, the first minute he gets his nose in the door. He ain't going to
approve at all, at all--not any way you look at it."

"Honey!"

Both Steve and Garry ignored the rest of Joe's explanation to gasp that
single word in concert.

"Who in the world do you mean by 'Honey'?"

"Who could I mean?" Joe demanded collectedly. "I didn't give him the
name, did I? I mean that chap Wickersham who owns the timber north of
us. Foreign, ain't he? Sure, I thought so? Well, every time I run
across that man's path my heart swells with patriotism. I