re of the worldly wisdom
of his calling, he smiled broadly. "I guess you'll find him up there, Mr.
Crewe. Front, show the gentleman to number twelve."

The hall boy knocked on the door of number twelve.

"C--come in," said a voice. "Come in."

Mr. Crewe entered, the hall boy closed the door, and he found himself
face to face with a comfortable, smooth-faced man seated with great
placidity on a rocking-chair in the centre of the room, between the bed
and the marble-topped table: a man to whom, evidently, a rich abundance
of thought was sufficient company, for he had neither newspaper nor book.
He rose in a leisurely fashion, and seemed the very essence of the benign
as he stretched forth his hand.

"I'm Mr. Crewe," the owner of that name proclaimed, accepting the hand
with no exaggeration of cordiality. The situation jarred on him a trifle.

"I know. Seed you on the road once or twice. How be you?"

Mr. Crewe sat down.

"I suppose you are Mr. Braden," he said.

Mr. Braden sank into the rocker and fingered a waistcoat pocket full of
cigars that looked like a section of a cartridge-belt.

"T--try one of mine," he said.

"I only smoke once after breakfast," said Mr. Crewe.

"Abstemious, be you? Never could find that it did me any hurt."

This led to an awkward pause, Mr. Crewe not being a man who found profit
in idle discussion. He glanced at Mr. Braden's philanthropic and beaming
countenance, which would have made the fortune of a bishop. It was not
usual for Mr. Crewe to find it difficult to begin a conversation, or to
have a companion as self-sufficient as himself. This man Braden had all
the fun, apparently, in sitting in a chair and looking into space that
Stonewall Jackson had, or an ordinary man in watching a performance of "A
Trip to Chinatown." Let it not be inferred, again, that Mr. Crewe was
abashed; but he was puzzled.

"I had an engagement in Ripton this morning," he said, "to see about some
business matters. And after I received your telephone I thought I'd drop
in here."

"Didn't telephone," said Mr. Braden, placidly.

"What!" said Mr. Crewe, "I certainly got a telephone message."

"N--never telephone," said Mr. Braden.

"I certainly got a message from you," Mr. Crewe protested.

"Didn't say it was from me--didn't say so--did they--"

"No," said Mr. Crewe, "but--"

"Told Ball you wanted to have me see you, didn't you?"

Mr. Crewe, when he had unravelled this sentence, did not fancy th