Philip was not the too common prodigal son of a rich man. His father, fond and proud of his son and heir, had studied the boy, taking him into his confidence, and had interested him at first in the more romantic side of his business by stories about the different products and producers. Later Philip was given the opportunity to study different departments and even entrusted with a little responsibility. An allowance, small at first and increasing with the years, was made, and within this he was supposed to bring his personal expenses. To Mr. Van Buskirk’s great satisfaction, Philip was responding to this effort to fit him for responsibility, and as he went about with his father he was unconsciously absorbing much and learning to distinguish the true from the false and the honorable from the dishonorable. “Before you go, Philip,” said Aunt Katherine after dinner, “may I have some music?” “Certainly,” replied Philip promptly, seating himself at the piano. “What will you have, Auntie? College songs and ragtime are not in your line, are they?” It was a pretty picture,—the beautiful room, the dark, rich wood of the piano, Philip’s glowing face and Cathalina’s smiling one, looking over the piano at her brother. A sparkling, indefinite prelude passed gradually into a dreamy theme that suited the relaxed mood of the family. Then followed several well-known classics till Philip rose suddenly and with one hand on his heart bowed low in exaggerated concert style to Aunt Katherine, who laughed and tossed him a crimson rose with which she had been playing. “What was that pretty thing you played first,—after your preliminaries?” she asked, as Philip sat down again and began to turn the pages of a collection of songs which Cathalina handed him. “Something by a new composer, I believe, Auntie,” replied Philip with a wink at Cathalina. “I couldn’t tell you the name of it.” Cathalina could not conceal her amusement and Aunt Katherine quickly exclaimed, “I knew it! You did it yourself! It was lovely. You play with much expression, Philip, a great gift in these degenerate days!” “Really, Aunt Katherine, if the children are going to Libbie’s, we shall have to cut short the music. College songs another time, Cathalina. I’m sorry.” Philip began to whistle softly a phrase of “Who is Sylvia,” as Cathalina hurried off to get ready. In the hall Watts at the telephone looked around to say, “Tire is off the touring car, sir; can have the electric at the door in a few minutes.” “All right,—nobody but Cathalina and me, and Ann Maria coming back.” At the top of the steps Cathalina gave a little skip. “O, Phil, this is almost jolly, isn’t it? I’m so glad you and the girls are back!” “I like that ‘almost’!” Philip took her arm down the steps and put her carefully into the car. “Are you glad to be home?” “Glad!—you don’t know how awful it is sometimes,—and then again, it’s jolly fun,” Philip smiled at the remembrance of certain pranks.