y: "By the
way, speaking of Mr. Fenn--how is Henry? I don't see him much now since
he's quit the law and gone into real estate."

His eyes asked plainly: Is everything all right in that quarter? Perhaps
I might--

"Oh, I guess he's all right," and her eyes said: That's so kind of you,
indeed; perhaps you might--

But he went on: "You ought to get him out more--come over some night and
we'll make a hand at whist. Mrs. Van Dorn isn't much of a player, but
like all poor players, she enjoys it." And the eyes continued: But you
and I will have a fine time--now please come--soon--very soon.

"Yes, indeed--I don't play so well, but we'll come," and the eyes
answered: That is a fair promise, and I'll be so happy. Then they
flashed quickly: But Mrs. Van Dorn must arrange it. He replied: "I'll
tell Mrs. Van Dorn you like whist, and she and you can arrange the
evening."

Then they parted. He walked into the post office, and she walked on to
the Wright & Perry store. But instead of returning to his office, he
lounged into Mr. Brotherton's and sat on a bench in the Amen Corner,
biting a cigar, waiting for traffic to clear out. Then he said: "George,
how is Henry Fenn doing--really?"

His soft, brown hat was tipped over his eyes and his ulster, unbuttoned,
displayed his fine figure, and he was clearly proud of it. Brotherton
hesitated while he invoiced a row of books.

"Old trouble?" prompted Judge Van Dorn.

"Old trouble," echoed Mr. Brotherton--"about every three months since
he's been married; something terrible the last time. But say--there's a
man that's sorry afterwards, and what he doesn't buy for her after a
round with the joy-water isn't worth talking about. So far, he's been
able to square her that way--I take it. But say--that'll wear off, and
then--" Mr. Brotherton winked a large, mournful, devilish wink as one
who was hanging out a storm flag. Judge Van Dorn twirled his mustache,
patted his necktie, jostled his hat and smiled, waiting for further
details. Instead, he faced a question:

"Why did Henry quit the law for real estate, Judge--the old trouble?"

Judge Van Dorn echoed, and added: "Folks pretty generally know about it,
and they don't trust their law business in that kind of hands. Poor
Henry--poor devil," sighed the young Judge, and then said: "By the way,
George, send up a box of cigars--the kind old Henry likes best, to my
house. I'm going to have him and the missus over some evening."

Mr. Brothe