“Have you a telegram for Philip Vernon?” said I. “Yes, sir,” said he, dismounting and pulling the telegram out of his side pocket. “I was just go’n’ up to your place.” “Saved me a dollar, didn’t it?” said I. “Yes, sir, and lost me ten cents.” “Here’s the ten cents,” said I, as I signed for the telegram. “It’s collect, sir,” said he; “forty-five cents.” I paid him and I opened the envelope. “All missed confounded train. Be good to Hepburn if he caught it. Will come on next train. Wait for us. Tom.” A most characteristic telegram in every way. It’s superfluity of expression, its thought of Hepburn and its command to wait, were all as like Tom Warden as they could be. “There’s nothing to do _but_ wait,” said I when I had shown the telegram to the others. “The dinner will be spoiled,” said Ethel ruefully. “Let me walk up and tell Minerva to wait,” said Cherry, and Ellery enthusiastically seconded her motion. “Why, it seems too bad,” began Ethel. “Not at all. We’re just going to take a walk,” said Cherry, and they started, well pleased at the turn of affairs. I knew young Hepburn to be a millionaire in his own right and I knew that Ethel would worry at having him see the make shifts to which we resorted, but I was rather amused at the prospect myself. We had already shown the simple life to two New Yorkers and now we would show it to some more. We asked him if he would not like to ride around Egerton and see a typical Massachusetts town and he said he would. “Do you know,” said he to Ethel, “I held back about coming up in such a very unconventional way, but you know how compelling Tom is, and he said he would explain it all before I was even presented, and so I came. And then to have him miss the train. It was awkward.” “Simply one on Tom, Mr. Hepburn,” said I. “Our house is one of those affairs that can be stretched to accommodate any number of people if they themselves are accommodating.” “Well, you know,” said Mr. Hepburn, “I might find a room at the hotel.” Perhaps he had thought he was not accommodating. I knew that Ethel was wishing that he _would_ find a room at a hotel, but there was no hotel. She was beginning to think how _much_ less a sofa would be than the bed he was accustomed to sleep in when he was at home. But when you are picnicking the only thing to do is to have a good time and forget that there is such a proverb as “Other times, other manners.” Our ride was pleasant and it did not seem anything like two hours when we heard the whistle of the train at South Egerton, and drove rapidly to the station.