edule-time. Mrs. Baker was
awaiting them, her stiff manner indicating that she had not been doing
much else while they were away. Without finesse, one member of the two
delinquents was informed that a certain man of considerable social
prominence, Clarence Sidwell by name, had called daily, and, Mrs. Baker
fancied, with increasing dissatisfaction at their absence. Florence
found in her mail a short note, which after some consideration she
handed without comment to her father.

He read--and read again. "When was this mailed?" he asked.

"Over a week ago," answered Florence. "It has been here for several
days."

It was therefore no surprise to the Englishman when that very evening,
as he sat on the front veranda, his heels on the railing, watching the
passage of equipages swift and slow, he saw a tall young man, at whom
passers-by stared more than was polite, coming leisurely up the
sidewalk, inspecting the numbers on the houses. As he came closer, Mr.
Baker took in the details of the long free stride, of the broad chest,
the square uplifted chin, with something akin to admiration. Vitality
and power were in every motion of the supple body; health--a life free
as the air and sunshine--was written in the brown of the hands, the tan
of the face. Even his clothes, though not the conventional costume of
city streets, seemed a part of their wearer, and had a freedom all their
own. The broad-brimmed felt hat was obviously for comfort and
protection, not for show. The light-brown flannel shirt was the color of
the sinewy throat. The trousers, of darker wool, rolled up at the
bottom, exposed the high-heeled riding-boots. About the whole man--for
he was very near now--there was that immaculate cleanliness which the
world prizes more than godliness.

Scotty dropped his feet from the railing and advanced to the steps.
"Hello, Ben Blair!" he said.

The visitor paused and smiled. "How do you do, Mr. Baker?" he answered.
"I thought I'd find you along here somewhere." He swung up the short
walk, and, mounting the steps, grasped the Englishman's extended hand.
For a moment the two said nothing. Then Scotty motioned to a chair. "Sit
down, won't you?" he invited.

Ben stood as he was. The smile left his face. "Would you really--like me
to?" he asked directly.

"I really would, or I wouldn't have asked you," Scotty returned, with
equal directness.

Ben took the proffered chair, and crossed his legs comfortably. The two
sat for a