"Oh, I turned 'em down," said the coming fiancé, and briefly expanded. Of the fine old firm, he said: "They were associated with me on Hog Bay Breakwater." Old Blake was a prince; Steinert a crackerjack. They had raised their offer, so eager were they to get him, and insisted on leaving it open for him. He had seen all the shows, lunched at five clubs, "closed up several important deals," etc., etc. Dipping up his watch again, Donald said suddenly: "Seen Mary lately?" This being none of his business, Charles replied with a monosyllable. "Anything wrong between you two?" "Not that I'm aware of.... Great heavens! I'm a worker, my good fellow! I haven't time to fuss around house-partying--pop-calling--all the time!--Not, of course, that I don't wish I were going--" "Well, you won't have much time to be pop-calling on Mary," reproved Donald, with his new responsible soberness. "Drop around this afternoon, Charlie, after your lessons. See if you can't cheer her up a little." The limousine reeled off half a block before Charles answered: "Seems I'm behind the times again. What does Miss Mary need to be cheered up about, exactly?" "What d'you s'pose now, Charlie? Going off to New York to live, herself; me off to Wyoming for two years at least; Aunt Ellen moving to North Carolina; home broken up--why, I tell you the thing is the worst kind of smash-up! I've just been with Mary--never saw her so blue in my life." Charles said, after another silence: "But she understood all that from the beginning, didn't she?" "Understood--what's that got to do with it? Besides, you never understand things till you get right down to 'em. Take me," said Donald, recurring to his favorite subject with a frown. "I hadn't an idea how much I was going to mind this business--ending it all here, moving off to the back side of nowhere to--" "Well, don't be sentimental about it, for pity's sake! This is a realistic story we're living, or I miss my guess entirely.--When does Miss Mary leave?" "Oh, about two weeks, I believe, but--" "Two weeks!" "Wensons want the flat around the 20th, I understand. We didn't speak of that just now--Mary'll tell you about it. Let's see," said Donald, fidgeting about and looking first out one window, then another. "Going to your mother's to-morrow, I suppose? Drop in this afternoon, Charlie--or to-night. And that's so!--you can take around a package for me, things I bought for Mary in New York--oh, neck-fichus, silk stockings--that sort of stuff."