"Let me rave if I want to," he requested. "Let me have a good time. You know as well as I do that I don't mean it, and you know that I'm more glad for your success and happiness and prosperity than I would be for my own; and that's being some glad." He crossed to where Schuyler stood and placed his arm about his shoulders, and continued, "good old Jack. Bully for you. You deserve everything that you have ever won. I'd say I loved you like a brother if it weren't for the fact that I never had a brother yet that I could sit through a meal with without wanting to hit him under the ear with the side-board." [Illustration: "BYE, LITTLE SWEETHEART"] The room had become suddenly dark. Came almost without the warning of preliminary rumble--almost without the precursor of sullen flashing--a great peal of heavy thunder. Schuyler turned. Blake sprang to his feet. Through the bow window, the lawn lay dun and dark. Beyond, the Sound, flat and heavy, seemed as gray oil. The Long Island shore had been swallowed in the gloom. Above all was a great, black cloud, rimmed of silver and of gold, a low cloud, thick and threatening. And yet to one side and the other--in fact save right in its ominous path, one could see the sunlight on water and on land. Then came the rain, and the wind, and with them incessant flashings, incessant bellowings, wild protests of the outraged God of storms. Trees bent and groaned. Flowers, torn from their tender stalks, lay prostrate in puling puddles. And quick-born waves lashed themselves spitefully against the pier and breakwater down beyond the lawn, unseen in the swirling, screaming wildness of it all. Upon one another Schuyler and Blake turned wondering, amazed eyes. In its suddenness, the storm was unbelievable. They stood, side by side, gazing out into the storm. Suddenly, into the hand of Schuyler stole tiny, frightened fingers. It was Muriel. "I'm frightened, daddy dear," she cried. Schuyler gathered her into his arms. "Don't be frightened, little sweetheart," he said, soothingly. "It's just a summer storm.... Where's mother?" "Here, Jack." Her voice came from at his very side. "Isn't it terrible! We can't go in this." Holding his child close against his breast, her cheeks against his, her gold-brown hair mixing with the gray of his temples, he said: "Not you and Muriel, of course. But I must. It won't last long; you and Tom can come on a later train. Parks can come with you. There'll be plenty of time. It's only that I have urgent business that I must attend to before sailing." In a swirl of wind and rain, Parks stepped into the room, and addressing Schuyler, said: "We should be starting, sir." Schuyler nodded. The butler was holding his coat in readiness. He thrust his arms within the sleeves and, with a shrug of broad shoulders, stood prepared for departure.