He had lectured Oliver severely, and, to his grief and astonishment, was laughed at for his pains. So he went to Serepta Grimes. He rang the Baxter doorbell—and instantly wondered why he had done so. It seemed like a confession of weakness on his part. He sat down on the veranda and waited. It was late in the afternoon of a hot July day, well along toward the end of the month. He sniffed the sultry air, gazed frowningly at the western sky where clouds were gathering in the black pregnancy of storm, and chewed hard on the macerated stub of an unlighted cigar. Mrs. Grimes came to the door. “Oh, it’s you, is it? I thought maybe it was Marmaduke Smith back with another telegram.” “Another what?” demanded Mr. Sikes, with interest. “He’s brought two up on his bicycle since four o’clock, and he said maybe there’d be more. Two telegrams for Oliver.” “Why didn’t he take ’em to the store, the little fool? Oliver may have to ketch the six o’clock train. What’s in ’em?” “How should I know? I don’t open his letters or telegrams.” “Well, you’d ought to. Ten chances to one they’re from Ollie, asking for help or money or—Where is Oliver, if he ain’t at the store?” “He’s out automobile riding with Mr. Lansing’s daughter.” “Oh; he is, is he?” snapped Mr. Sikes, getting up. “I might have knowed it. Darn his eyes, he’s getting worse and worse every day. If I’ve warned that boy once about light women, I’ve done it a hundred times. He’s got to—” “She’s letting it come in dark again,” said Mrs. Grimes calmly. “Letting it what?” “Come in dark. Her hair, I mean. She wouldn’t be any more of a blonde than you are, Joe Sikes, if she’d quit bleaching her hair, or hennering it, or whatever it is they do. Like Saul Higbee’s daughter Kate—you remember her, don’t you? Turned blonde over night, and said God had performed a miracle.” “You mean to say this here Lansing woman ain’t a real blonde?” exclaimed Mr. Sikes, sitting down again. “You heard what I said, didn’t you?” “I don’t know whether to believe you or my own eyes.” “Looks as if we’d get the storm before dark, doesn’t it?” said Mrs. Grimes, sweeping the cloud banks with a casual eye. Mr. Sikes appeared to be thinking. After a long pause he said: “I guess maybe you’re insinuatin’ that I better be moving along towards home if I don’t want to get caught in it.” “You can sit here as long as you like, Joe,” said she. “And you can stay to dinner, too, if you feel like it,” she added, her conscience smiting her suddenly. “Have you swept the porch to-day, Serepty?” he inquired, after another pause. “Certainly. Why?” “Because I never seem to come up here and sit down on it but what either you or Lizzie Meggs rush out and begin sweeping all around me. No matter what time of day I come, I always have to get out of the way of one of you women sweepin’.” “Well, you won’t have to to-day,” said she good-naturedly. “So set still.”