nly the boy's animal
spirits bubbling over," he interrupted, "and the fact that he can't grow
up. You and I were in college once ourselves."

Huntington was never successful in holding out against Cosden's
persistency, and in the present case elements existed which argued with
almost equal force. He was curious to see how far his friend was in
earnest, and was this combination of names a pure coincidence? He
wondered.

The car came to a stop before Huntington's house.

"Well," he yielded at length, as he stepped out, "I presume it might be
arranged.--Let Mason take you home. You've given me a lot to think
over, Connie--"

"This wouldn't break up our intimacy, you understand," Cosden asserted
confidently. "No woman in the world shall ever do that; and it will be a
good thing for you, too, to have a woman's influence come into your
life."

"Perhaps," Huntington assented dubiously; "but because you show symptoms
of lapsing is no sign that I shall fall from the blessed state of
bachelorhood. I supposed that our inoculation made us both immune, but
if the virus has weakened in your system I have no doubt that any woman
you select will have a heart big enough for us both."

"If she hasn't, we won't take her into the firm," laughed Cosden.

* * * * *

II

* * * * *

Huntington was unusually preoccupied during the period of dinner. Even
when alone he was in the habit of making the evening meal a function, in
which his man Dixon and his cook took especial pride. But to-night the
words of praise or gentle criticism were lacking, one course succeeding
another mechanically without comment of any kind. When Dixon followed
him up-stairs to the library with coffee and liqueur he found him with
his _Transcript_ still unfolded lying in his lap; and, whatever may have
happened in the mean time, the same attitude of abstraction prevailed
when Dixon returned, three hours later, received his final instructions,
and was dismissed for the night. Cosden had undoubtedly dropped off into
that slumber which belongs by right to the man whose day has presented
him with a brilliant inspiration; but Huntington still sat alone,
absorbed in his own thoughts.

The chronicler has already intimated that Huntington was possessed of a
sentimental nature, but were he to stop there he would understate the
real truth. Huntington was exceedingly sentimental--far more so than he