"The old soldier didn't take a chance. He abso-bally-lutely disappeared the next day. Took the girl with him, of course. Dud went around like a wild man. He was twenty-one that spring, tall as he is now and had about seven times as much pep as he has now, if you can imagine that much. Evangeline looking for Gabriel was a paper chase compared to Dudley trying to find his lady-love. He spent months at it. Got haggard and wan, had a couple of fights with Burrel, a lawyer who was the only person who knew where Major Trenton had gone. Funny thing, it was that same Burrel who absconded with the American Trust Company's stuff two or three years ago. Trenton must certainly have made it worth the lawyer's while not to tell--for that lawyer was as crooked as a corkscrew and yet Dud couldn't bribe him with everything he could muster--which was quite some, for in those days the Hamilt family had scads of money. "I made a sort of break one night--" The fat man felt of his neck ruefully. "Tried to joke with Dud a little, it was a year or so afterward and I thought he'd gotten over things--but--er--he hadn't. He--" He paused and blushed. "That's he though, coming through the door," he ended. "Want me to try for him?" It was the fair Edwina who dared however. She lifted her head charmingly and beckoned. "Don't ball things up, Tommy," she murmured under her breath, "Leave it to us--get out if you see he's still miffed with you--Please come over here, Mr. Hamilt," she called softly. "I want you to meet Mr. Graemer." He looked as blonde as she, almost, ruddy, lithe, but somehow old. He did not smile at her greeting, he merely nodded. She gestured again, so imperiously that he obeyed, but with scant courtesy, and he did not look at all overjoyed at meeting the illustrious Mr. Graemer. He sat down however, ordered his luncheon and listened gravely enough to Edwina's chatter. "Have you seen me in 'The Juggler'? Aren't you willing to say I can act now? He never would--" she turned to Graemer. "He always said I couldn't--but, don't you think I do in 'The Juggler'?" she entreated Hamilt. "It's an actress-proof part, isn't it?" he bantered, watching her lazily. "Brute!" she pouted. "Perhaps he is complimenting me," teased Graemer. "Not at all," promptly answered the rude Mr. Hamilt. "You've all but ruined the play with your everlasting managing. It's a peach up to the last act. Until you chuck that maudlin bunch of slush and scenery at us. Where did you get that play, anyhow?" he asked insolently. "Why, he wrote it last summer," protested Edwina. "Yes?" his uplifted eyebrows were insulting as he glanced quizzically at Graemer. "Then he was about twenty-five years younger last summer than he is now. The first two acts of that play--Gad, it got me up till then, but the rest of it--" he broke a bit off a crusty roll and buttered it carefully, "I can readily believe, Mr. Graemer," he added deliberately, "that you did write the rest of the play."