She had gone away from Rumley with a cheap and unlovely suitcase; she came back with twenty trunks, her traveling bags of seal, her jewel box and toilet case, hat boxes, shoe boxes, a pedigreed “Peke” named Henry the Eighth, and an accent that could have come from nowhere save the heart of London-town. In a clear, full voice, trained to reach remote perches in lofty theaters, she spoke to her husband from the coach steps: “Herbert, dear, have you the checks for my luggage, or have I?” “I—I will attend to the trunks—” he began huskily, only to be interrupted by the indefatigable Sammy. “Don’t give ’em another thought, Mr. Sage. I’ll see to everything. Give me the checks and—right this way, please, Mrs. Sage.” “Thank you—thank you so much,” said Mrs. Sage graciously, and, as Sammy bustled on ahead, inquired in an undertone of Jane at whose side she walked: “Is that the wonderful Oliver October I’ve been hearing so much about?” “No, Mother—that is Sammy Parr. I—I don’t see Oliver anywhere. I wrote him the train we were coming—” A few paces ahead Sammy was explaining loudly to Mr. Sage: “I guess something important of a political nature must have turned up to keep Oliver from meeting the train. We had it all fixed up to meet you with my car and he was to be here at four sharp. Doc Lansing’s up at Harbor Point, Michigan, for a little vacation. Won’t be back till Sunday week. Muriel’s out here in the car, Mr. Sage. She’ll drive you home while I see about the baggage.” Mr. Sage had recovered his composure by this time. He leaned close to Sammy’s ear and said gravely: “Luggage, Sammy—luggage.” “Sure—I get you,” said Sammy, winking. “But just the same I’ll call it baggage till I’ve got it safely out of the hands of Jim O’Brien, the baggage master. He doesn’t like me any too well as it is, and if I called it—Here we are! Hop right in, Jane. Permit me to introduce myself, Mrs. Sage. I am—” “I remember you quite well,” interrupted the great actress (pronouncing it “quate”). “You are Sammy Parr—little Sammy Parr who used to live—ah—let me see, where was it you were living when I left Rumley, Sammy?” Sammy flushed with joy to the roots of his hair. “I didn’t think you’d remember me, Mrs.—” “Pairfectly,” said she. “Oh, thank you so much. What a lovely car you have. Don’t come too close to Henry the Eighth—he has a vile way of snapping at people, whether he likes them or not. My word, Sammy! Jane! Herbert! Can I believe my eyes? Is this Rumley? Is this—” “This is my wife, Mrs. Sage,” introduced Sammy, indicating the bare-headed young lady at the wheel. “How do you do, Mrs. Sage. I’m awfully thrilled to meet you. I saw you act in London during the war. My first husband was an officer in the American Army, you see. You were perfectly lovely. I shall never forget—oh, dear, what was the name of the play? I ought to remember—”