Courtlandt nodded. "You look like a soldier in mufti, and more than that,
like the gentleman that you naturally are," quite sincerely.

The ex-gladiator blushed. "This is the reception-room. There's the
ballroom right out there. The smoking-room is on the other side. Now, how
in the old Harry am I going to get across without killing some one?"

Courtlandt resisted the desire to laugh. "Supposing you let me pilot you
over?"

"You're the referee. Ring the gong."

"Come on, then."

"What! while they are dancing?" backing away in dismay.

The other caught him by the arm. "Come on."

And in and out they went, hither and thither, now dodging, now pausing to
let the swirl pass, until at length Harrigan found himself safe on shore,
in the dim cool smoking-room.

"I don't see how you did it," admiringly.

"I'll drop in every little while to see how you are getting on,"
volunteered Courtlandt. "You can sit by the door if you care to see them
dance. I'm off to see Mrs. Harrigan and tell her where you are. Here's a
cigar."

Harrigan turned the cigar over and over in his fingers, all the while
gazing at the young man's diminishing back. He sighed. _That_ would make
him the happiest man in the world. He examined the carnelian band
encircling the six-inches of evanescent happiness. "What do you think of
that!" he murmured. "Same brand the old boy used to smoke. And if he pays
anything less than sixty apiece for 'em at wholesale, I'll eat this one."
Then he directed his attention to the casual inspection of the room. A few
elderly men were lounging about. His sympathy was at once mutely extended;
it was plain that they too had been dragged out. At the little smoker's
tabouret by the door he espied two chairs, one of which was unoccupied;
and he at once appropriated it. The other chair was totally obscured by
the bulk of the man who sat in it; a man, bearded, blunt-nosed, passive,
but whose eyes were bright and twinkling. Hanging from his cravat was a
medal of some kind. Harrigan lighted his cigar, and gave himself up to the
delights of it.

"They should leave us old fellows at home," he ventured.

"Perhaps, in most cases, the women would much prefer that."

"Foreigner," thought Harrigan. "Well, it does seem that the older we get
the greater obstruction we become."

"What is old age?" asked the thick but not unpleasant voice of the
stranger.

"It's standing aside. Years don't count at all. A man is as young as he
fee