"_Knew_ him? Saaaaay, Milt and I was brung up together. Why, him and I have bummed around together, and worked on farms, summers, and fished for bull-heads---- Ever catch a bull-head? Damnedest slipperiest fish you ever saw, and got horns that sting the stuffin's out of you and---- Say, I wonder if Milt's told you about the time we had at a barn-dance once? There was a bunch of hicks there, and I says, 'Say, kid, lez puncture their tires, and hide back of the manure pile, and watch the fun when they come out.' I guess maybe I was kind of stewed a little, tell the truth, but course Milt he don't drink much, hardly at all, nice straight kid if I do say so----" "Bill!" Milt ordered. "We must have some tea. Here's six-bits. You run down to the corner grocery and get some tea and a little cream. Oh, you better buy three-four cups, too. Hustle now, son!" "Attaboy! Yours to command, ladies and gents, like the fellow says!" Bill boomed delightedly. He winked at Jeff Saxton, airily spun his broken hat on his dirty forefinger, and sauntered out. "Charming fellow. A real original," crooned Mrs. Gilson. "Did he know your friend Mr. Pinky?" asked Saxton. Before Milt could answer, Claire rose from the bed, inspected the Gilsons and Jeff with cold dislike, and said quietly to Milt, "The poor dear thing--he was dreadfully embarrassed. It's so good of you to be nice to him. I believe in being loyal to your old friends." "Oh, so do I!" babbled Mrs. Gilson. "It's just too splendid. And _we_ must do something for him. I'm going to invite Mr. Daggett and Mr.--Mr. McGollups, was it?--to dinner this evening. I do want to hear him tell about your boyhood. It must have been so interesting." "It was," mused Milt. "It was poor and miserable. We had to work hard--we had to fight for whatever education we got--we had no one to teach us courtesy." "Oh now, with your fine old doctor father? Surely he was an inspiration?" Jeff didn't, this time, trouble to hide the sneer. "Yes. He was. He gave up the chance to be a rich loafer in order to save farmers' babies for fees that he never got." "I'm sure he did. I wish I'd known him. We need to know men like that in this pink-frosting playing at living we have in cities," Claire said sweetly--not to Milt but to Jeff. Mrs. Gilson had ignored them, waiting with the patience of a cat at a mouse-hole, and she went on, "But you haven't said you'd come, this evening. Do say you will. I don't suppose Mr. McGollups will care to dress for dinner?" With saccharin devotion Milt yearned back, "No, Mrs. Gilson. No. Mr. McGolwey won't care to dress. He's eccentric." "But you'll make him come?" Milt was tactfully beginning to refuse when Gene Gilson at last exploded, turned purple, covered his dripping, too-red lips with his handkerchief.