"I can talk all right," returned Randolph. "In fact, I have a bit of news for you." "What is it?" "I'm going to move." Foster peered out from under his shade. "Move? What for? I thought you were all right where you are. "All right enough; except that I want more room--and a house of my own." "Have you found one?" "I've about decided on an apartment. And I expect to move into it early next month." "Top floor, of course?" "No; first floor, not six feet above the street level." "Good. If they'll lend me a hand here, to get down and out, I'll come and see you, now and then." "Do so." "That will give me a chance to wear this muffler, after all." "So it will." "Well, be a little more cordial. You expect to see your friends, don't you?" "Of course. That's what it's for. Have I got to exert myself," he added, "to be cordial with _you_?" "What's the neighborhood?" "Oh, this one, substantially. The next street from where I am now." "Housekeeper?" "I think I'll have a Jap alone, at first." "Dinners?" "A few small try-outs, perhaps." "Mixed parties?" "Not at the beginning, anyhow." "Oh; bachelor's hall." "About that." Foster readjusted his shade, and drove his needles into his ball of yarn. "Complete new outfit?" "Well, I have some things in storage." "How about the people you're with now?" "Their lease is up in the spring. They may go on; they may not. Fall's the time to change." Foster drew out his needles again and fell to work. "You ought to have seen Hortense the next morning. She put my tray on the table, and then went down in a heap on the floor--or it sounded like that. She was fainting away at dinner, she said." "She found it amusing?" "I don't know _how_ she found it," returned Foster shortly. "If ever _I_ do anything like that at your house, run me home." "Not if it's raining. I shall be able to tuck you away somewhere." "Don't. I never asked to be a centre of interest." "Well," returned Randolph merely, and fell silent. Foster resumed work with some excess of vigor, and presently got into a snarl. "Dammit!" he exclaimed, "have I dropped another?" Randolph leaned over to examine the work. "Something's wrong." "Well, let it go. Enough for now. Read." There followed a half hour of historical essay, during which Foster a few times surreptitiously fingered his needles and yarn. "Shall you have a reading-circle at your new diggings?" he asked after a while. "If two can be said to make a circle,--and if you will really come." "I'm coming. But I never understood that only two points could establish a circle. Three, anyway." "Circle!" exclaimed Randolph. "Don't worry the word to death."