who colored pleasurably. He was then introduced, and he
acknowledged each introduction with a careless nod. He was there to see
Nora, and he did not propose to put himself to any inconvenience on
account of the others.

The temporary restraint which had settled upon the others at the
announcement of Herr Rosen's arrival passed away. Courtlandt, who had
remained seated during the initial formalities (a fact which bewildered
Abbott, who knew how punctilious his friend was in matters of this kind)
got up and took a third of the divan.

Harrigan dropped down beside him. It was his habit to watch his daughter's
face when any guest arrived. He formed his impression on what he believed
to be hers. That she was a consummate actress never entered into his
calculations. The welcoming smile dissipated any doubts.

"No matter where we are, they keep coming. She has as many friends as T.
R. I never bother to keep track of 'em."

"It would be rather difficult," assented Courtlandt.

"You ought to see the flowers. Loads of 'em. And say, what do you think?
Every jewel that comes she turns into money and gives to charity. Can you
beat it? Fine joke on the Johnnies. Of course, I mean stones that turn up
anonymously. Those that have cards go back by fast-mail. It's a good thing
I don't chance across the senders. Now, boy, I want you to feel at home
here in this family; I want you to come up when you want to and at any old
time of day. I kind of want to pay back to you all the kind things your
dad did for me. And I don't want any Oh-pshawing. Get me?"

"Whatever you say. If my dad did you any favors it was because he liked
and admired you; not with any idea of having you discharge the debt in the
future by way of inconveniencing yourself on my account. Just let me be a
friend of the family, like Abbott here. That would be quite enough honor
for me."

"You're on! Say, that blacksmith yarn was a corker. He was a game old
codger. That was scrapping; no hall full of tobacco-smoke, no palm-fans,
lemonade, peanuts and pop-corn; just right out on the turf, and may the
best man win. I know. I went through that. No frame-ups, all square and on
the level. A fellow had to fight those days, no sparring, no pretty
footwork. Sometimes I've a hankering to get back and exchange a wallop or
two. Nothing to it, though. My wife won't let me, as the song goes."

Courtlandt chuckled. "I suppose it's the monotony. A man who has been
active hates to sit