When you’ve a pater who’s been flattered with the spread of news print that had been lavished on Winton Scofield, he’s a bit difficult to mention; but I managed to drift in a remark about him and I certainly detonated something. Fred had been storing too much inside of him concerning father and had required only the gentlest tap on the fuse to cause him to explode. “Isn’t he absolutely ludicrous!” Fred shot at me. “Age, damn it, Steve, age is no disgrace. It ought to be the noblest, most dignified stage of a man’s development. What does Shakespeare say about age, ‘His silver hairs will purchase good opinion!’ And Byron----” I let him rave on as it seemed to relieve him; I knew he wasn’t talking to me so much as he was rehearsing father. “--he dyed his silver hairs twenty years back; and about the time the tango came in, he began pumping his face full of paraffin. Occasionally some of it slipped down in his cheek toward his chin.--Now I suppose you’ve heard of his rejuvenation operation.” I thought for a while and admitted that I had. “Wasn’t it a success?” I ventured. “A howling one--with father. He’s so young now he shouldn’t be married, legally, not having his parents’ consent. He ought to go back and start over at Andover Academy; in about four years, he’ll be ready for Yale once more. Young? We’re the old men, Ken and me, Steve! He’s sure he’s just fifteen; well, he surely acts it.” After this, I felt I could inquire, without seeming too personal, “How’s he getting along with his new wife?” Fred jumped. “Good God! He hasn’t married again since yesterday morning? I saw him then and----” “No,” I said. “I meant Shirley Fendon.” “Oh, you call her new?” Fred comprehended my peculiar point of view. “He’s had her going on three months now.” “There’s trouble between them?” I persisted. “Of course,” said Fred, “being twenty-two, she’s a little old for him, but they do bunny-dip beautifully together.” “Who was she?” I kept after Fred. “Who? Shirley? Why, you just said her name; Shirley Fendon she was.” “Wasn’t that just her cabaret name?” I inquired. “Well,” said Fred cautiously, “why go back of that? We were willing not to.” “You’ve met any of her friends?” Fred shook his head. “That, at least, has been spared us.” I steered the talk around so I could ask after a while, “Your father goes down to business now?” “You bet not! We see to that.” “Then what does he do?” “When he manages to break away from Shirley? Well, in spite of his youth, he keeps up with some of his old friends; he likes his rubbers of bridge, you know; so every other evening or so you’ll find the young chap down at the club at his old place among the unrejuvenated.” “To-night, for instance?” “Friday; let’s see,” Fred considered. “Yes; he’ll be there to-night; why?”