to eleven--then a biscuit
and a glass of sherry--then a nap--te-he! Oh, yes, every day, Mr. Mallett,
rain or fair--then luncheon at one, and the cigarette--te-he!--and a
little sleep--and the drive at five! Yes, Mr. Mallett, it is the routine
of a very old man who knew your grandfather--and all his set--when the
town was gay below Bleecker Street! Yes, yes--te-he-he!"

Nervous spasms which passed as smiles distorted the younger Dysart's
visage; the aged beau offered his hand to Duane, who took it in silence,
his eyes fixed on the shrivelled, painted face:

"Your grandfather was a very fine man," he piped; "very fine! ve-ery
fine! And so I perceive is his grandson--te-he!--and I flatter myself
that my boy Jack is not unadmired--te-he-he!--no, no--not precisely
unnoticed in New York--the town whose history is the history of his own
race, Mr. Mallett--he is a good son to me--yes, yes, a good son. It is
gratifying to me to know that you are his friend. He is a good friend to
have, Mr. Mallett, a good friend and a good son."

Duane bent gently over the shrivelled hand.

"I won't detain you from your drive, Mr. Dysart. I hope you will have a
pleasant one. It is a pleasure to know my grandfather's old friends.
Good-bye."

And, erect, he hesitated a moment, then, for an old man's sake he held
out his hand to Jack Dysart, bidding him good-bye in a pleasant voice
pitched clear and decided, so that deaf ears might corroborate what
half-blind and peering eyes so dimly beheld.

Dysart walked to the door with him, waved the servant aside, and, laying
a shaking hand on the bronze knob, opened the door for his unbidden
guest.

As Duane passed him he said:

"Thank you, Mallett," in a voice so low that Duane was half-way to his
cab before he understood.

* * * * *

That day, and the next, and all that week he worked in his pitlike
studio. Through the high sky-window a cloudless zenith brooded; the heat
became terrific; except for the inevitable crush of the morning and
evening migration south and north, the streets were almost empty under a
blazing sun.

His father seemed to be physically better. Although he offered no
confidences, it appeared to the son that there was something a little
more cheerful in his voice and manner. It may have been only the
anticipation of departure; for he was going West in a day or two, and it
came out that Wilton was going with him.

The day he left, Duane dro