CHARLIE WEBSTER ENTERTAINS That evening at the supper table, Mr. Pollock politely informed him that Alix Crown had returned from Michigan, looking as fit as a fiddle. "You've been so sort of curious about her, Court?" (it had not taken the male boarders long to dispense with formalities), "that I thought you'd be interested in knowing that she's home. Got back last evening. Her Packard automobile met her at the depot up in the city. You'll know her when you see her. Tall girl and fairly good-looking. Puts on an awful lot of 'dog.' What is it you fellows in the Army call it? Swunk?" "Swank," said Courtney, rather shortly. He was still smarting under the sting of his afternoon's experience. "Lemme help you to some more squash, Mr. Thane," said Margaret Slattery in his ear. "And another biscuit." "Thank you, no," said he. "What's the matter with your appetite?" she demanded. "You ain't hardly touched anything this evenin'. Sick?" "I'm not hungry, Margaret." "Been out in the sun too much, that's what's the matter with you. First thing you know you'll get a sunstroke, and THEN! My Uncle Mike was sunstruck when I was--" "Pass me the biscuits, Maggie, and don't be all night about it," put in Mr. Webster. "I'm hungry, even if Court isn't. I can distinctly remember when you used to pass everything to me first, and almost stuff it--" "Yes, and she used to do the same for me before you shaved off your chin whiskers, Charlie," said Mr. Hatch gloomily. "How times have changed." "It ain't the times that's changed," said Margaret. "It's you men. You ain't what you used to be, lemme tell you that." "True,--oh so true," lamented Mr. Webster. "I used to be nice and thin and graceful before you began showering me with attention. Now look at me. You put something like fifty pounds on me, and then you desert me. I was a handsome feller when I first came here, wasn't I, Flora? I leave it to you if I wasn't." "I don't remember how you looked when you first came here," replied Miss Grady loftily. "Can you beat that?" cried Charlie to Courtney across the table. "And she used to say I was the handsomest young feller she'd ever laid eyes on. Used to say I looked like,--who was it you used to say I looked like, Flora?" "The only thing I ever said you looked like was a mud fence, Charlie Webster." "What did she say, Pa? Hey?" This from old Mrs. Nichols, holding her hand to her ear. "What are they laughing at?" "She says Charlie looks like a mud fence," shouted old Mr. Nichols, his lips close to her ear. "His pants? What about his pants?" This time Courtney joined in the laugh. After supper he sat on the front porch with the Pollocks and Miss Grady. It was a warm, starry night. Charlie Webster and Doc Simpson had strolled off down the street. Mr. Hatch and Miss Miller sat in the parlour. "She's going to land Furman Hatch, sure as you're a foot high," confided Mr. Pollock, with a significant jerk of his head in the direction of the parlour.