'Let's do something to-morrow night--walk or go biking or row on the lake,' said Mrs Henderson. 'You two had better come down for dinner. Any time after six.' 'How about you?' Henry whispered to Corinne. 'Do you want me to come... Will and Fred...' Corinne's firm long hand slipped for a moment into his. He gripped it. The pressure was returned. 'Don't be silly!' she breathed, close to his ear. 8 The sand-flies served as an excuse for silence between Humphrey and Henry on the walk back. Nevertheless, the silence was awkward. It held until they were up in the curiously, hauntingly empty living-room. Humphrey scraped and lighted his pipe. Henry, rather surprisingly unhappy again, was moving toward a certain closed door. 'Tell me,' said Humphrey gruffly, slowly, 'where is Mister Arthur V. Henderson?' 'He travels for the Camman Company, reapers and binders and ploughs.' Humphrey very deliberately lighted his pipe. Henry moved on toward the closed door. Emotions were stirring uncomfortably within him. And conflicting impulses. Suddenly he shot out a muffled 'Good-night,' and entered the bedroom, shutting the door after him. An hour later Humphrey--a gaunt figure in nightgown and slippers, pipe in mouth--tapped at that door. Henry, only half undressed, flushed of face, dripping with sweat, quickly opened it. Humphrey looked down in surprise at a fully packed trunk and suit-case and a heap of bundles tied with odd bits of twine--sofa cushions, old clothes, what not. 'What's all this?' Humphrey waved his pipe. 'Well--I just thought I'd go in the morning.' 'Don't be a dam' fool.' 'But--but'--Henry threw out protesting hands--'I know I'm no good at all these fussy things. I'd just spoil your----' The pipe waved again. 'That's all disposed of, Hen.' A somewhat wry smile wrinkled the long face. 'Mildred Henderson's running it, apparently. There's a certain Mrs Olson who is to come in mornings and clean up. And--oh yes, I've got a lot of change for you. Your share was only eight-five cents.' There was a long silence. Henry looked at his feet; moved one of them slowly about on the floor. 'We're different kinds,' said Humphrey. 'About as different as they make'em. But that, in itself, isn't a bad thing.' He thrust out his hand. Henry clasped it; gulped down an all but uncontrollable uprush of feeling; looked down again. Humphrey stalked back to his room. Thus began the odd partnership of Weaver and Calverly. Though is not every partnership a little odd? III--THE STIMULANT 1 |Miss Wombast looked up from her desk in the Sunbury Public Library and beheld Henry Calverly, 3rd. Then with a slight fluttering of her pale, blue-veined eyelids and a compression of her thin lips she looked down again and in a neat practised librarian's hand finished printing out a title on the-catalogue card before her.