“Well, ours is the limit,” John retorted. “That’s the reason I wanted to go to Europe--to drink in an atmosphere. To live and study where the almighty dollar isn’t supreme! I’ve tried to hang on to ideals, but grubbing for bread first drags you down to designing ugly cottages for fools and ends by offering you an incinerator. We’ll probably wind up on packing houses and the city dump yard.” Jim laughed. “Let’s get hold of the money, and then you can swim in early Tuscan and post-impressionism and dabble in water colors all you want to.” “Yes, money means opportunity to do the things we want to--for us and for Dimmie,” Lucy added more seriously. “You two will have us running a contracting and jobbing concern before long, instead of an architect’s studio.” “I’d run a fertilizer plant if there was money in it,” declared Jim. “Well I wouldn’t, and I don’t think my boy would want advantages purchased at the cost of his father’s soul. Would you, son?” John rumpled Dimmie’s hair. “I want a balloon,” remarked Dimmie. “Heredity,” chuckled Jim, and Lucy laughed. “You’re all atavism,” John retorted. “What’s atavizzen?” queried Dimmie. “Ask your uncle Jim, son.” Dimmie looked at Jim who said, “I’ll bring you some next time I come out, Dimmie.” “By the way, Lucy,” resumed John, “that reminds me. What train does your mother come on tomorrow?” “On the seven o’clock, I think.” Lucy rose and took a letter from a drawer in the table by the kitchen door. “Seven ten C. and W.,” she corrected, consulting the letter. “Morning or evening?” “She didn’t say.” Lucy glanced again through the letter. “We’ll have to get a time table.” “Now isn’t that just like a woman?” John looked at Lucy teasingly. “It’s the morning train,” Jim informed them. “There’s no through evening train on the C. and W. at seven ten and there is in the morning.” “By George, you must be taking Professor Forgetproof’s correspondence course for strengthening the memory, Jim. You certainly do carry around a bunch of useless facts in your head.” “This one wasn’t,” said Lucy smiling. “I thought it wasn’t till night.” John sighed and lighted a cigarette. “He wanted all day to talk Howland into a Byzantine decoration scheme for his interior,” Jim explained to Lucy, getting out his pipe meanwhile. “That’s right,” admitted John, blowing smoke rings and poking his finger through them. There was a moment’s silence. Jim’s pipe seemed to be out of order. “I want to get down,” announced Dimmie, and a slight tension was broken. “Let mother untie your bib first, dear. Where are you going, baby?” “I’m goin’ to sit in Uncle Jim’s lap.” “Why Uncle Jim hasn’t had his coffee yet, son.” “Come on, kid,” invited Jim, moving his chair sidewise to the table. “I can attend to coffee and you too.” “There’s no use getting self conscious about this matter of your mother, Lucy.” John returned to the unwelcome subject. “We’ve no desire to keep anything from Jim.”