seemed to Woodhouse that she purposely added a lash of cruelty to her joy at the approaching departure on the morrow. "Oh, you must all listen to this!" Kitty Sherman commanded the attention of the table, with a clapping of hands. "Go ahead, Will; he had the funniest accident--tell them about it." Young Kimball looked conscious and began to stammer. "You're getting us all excited, Willy," Henry J. boomed from the opposite side of the table. "What happened?" "Why--ah--really quite ridiculous, you know. Hardly a matter to--ah--talk about." Willy fumbled the rose in the lapel of his jacket and searched for words. "You see, this morning I was thinking very hard about what I would do when I got back to Kewanee--oh, quite enthusiastic I am about the little town, now--and I--well, I mean to say, I got into my bath with my wrist watch on." Shouts of laughter added to the youth's confusion. Sherman leaned far across the table and advised him in a hoarse whisper: "Buy a dollar Ingersoll, Willy. It floats!" "Well, you might give him one of yours, father," Kitty put in, in quick defense. "Anybody who'd carry two watches around----" "Two watches?" Lady Crandall was interested. Henry J. beamed expansively, pulled away his napkin, and proudly lifted from each waistcoat pocket a ponderous watch, linked by the thick chain passing through a buttonhole. "This one"--he raised the right-hand time-piece--"tells the time of the place I happen to be in--changed it so often I guess the works'll never be the same again. But this one is my pet. Here's Kewanee time--not touched since we pulled out of the C., B. & Q. station on the twentieth of last May." He turned the face around for the others to read. "Just three in the afternoon there now. Old Ed Porter's got the _Daily Enterprise_ out on the street, and he's tilted back in his office chair, readin' the _Chicago Tribune_ that's just got in on the two-five train. The boys at the bank are goin' out to the country club for golf--young Pete Andrews wearin' the knickerbockers his wife cut down from his old overcoat; sort of a horse-blanket pattern, you might say. The town's just dozin' in the afternoon sun and--and not givin' a hang whether Henry J. Sherman and family gets back or not." "You're an old dear!" Lady Crandall bubbled. "Some day Kewanee will erect a statue to you." The talk turned to art, and the man from Kewanee even had the stolid general wiping the tears from his eyes by his description and criticism of some of the masters his wife had trotted him around to admire.