ollowed.

Portlaw was making considerable noise over the matter, running about
distractedly with little, short, waddling steps. Occasionally he aimed a
kick at a stuffed arm-chair, which did not hurt his foot too much.

It was some time before he calmed enough to pout and fume and protest in
his usual manner, appealing alternately to Heaven as witness and to
Hamil for corroboration that he had been outrageously used.

"Now, who the devil could suspect him of such intention!" wailed poor
Portlaw. "God knows, he was casual with the sex. There have been dozens
of them, Hamil, literally dozens in every port!--from Mamie and Stella
up to Gladys and Ethelberta! Yes, he was Harry to some and Reginald to
others--high, low--and the game, Hamil--the game amused him; but so help
me kings and aces! I never looked for this--never so help me; and I
thought him as safe with the Vere-de-Veres as he was with the Pudding
Sisters, Farina and Tapioca! And now"--passionately displaying the
engraved card--"look who's here!... O pip! What's the use."

Dinner modified his grief; hope bubbled in the Burgundy, simmered in the
soup, grew out of gravy like the sturdy, eternal weed she is, parasitic
in the human breast.

"He's probably married a million or so," suggested Portlaw, mollified
under the seductive appeal of a fruit salad dressed with a mixture
containing nearly a hundred different ingredients. "If he has I don't
see why he shouldn't build a camp next to mine. I'll give him the
land--if he doesn't care to pay for it," he added cautiously. "Don't say
anything to him about it, Hamil. After all, why shouldn't he pay for the
land?... But if he doesn't want to--between you and me--I'll come within
appreciable distance of almost giving him what land he needs.... O gee!
O fizz! That damn Louis!... And I'm wondering--about several matters--"

After dinner Portlaw settled down by the fire, cigar lighted, and began
to compose a letter to Malcourt, embodying his vivid ideas concerning a
new house near his own for the bridal pair.

Hamil went out into the fresh April night. The young grass was wet under
the stars; a delicate fragrance of new buds filled the air.

He had been walking for a long time, when the first far hint of thunder
broke the forest silence. Later lightning began to quiver through the
darkness; a wind awaking overhead whispered prophecy, wailed it,
foreboding; then slowly the woods filled with the roar of the rain.

He was