"Do you really think so?" cried Mrs. Pollock. "I never could see anything good looking about him,--except his physique. He has a splendid physique, but I never liked his face. It's so--so--well, so, raw-boned and all. I like smooth, regular features in a man. I--" "Like mine," interjected the pudgy Mr. Webster, with a very serious face. "David Strong has what I call a very rugged face," said Miss Miller. "I didn't say it was pretty, Maude." "He takes a very good photograph," remarked Mr. Hatch. "Specially a side-view. I've got one side-view of him over at the gallery that makes me think of an Indian every time I look at it." "Perhaps he has Indian blood in him," suggested Courtney, who was tired of David Strong. "Well, every drop of blood he's got in him is red," said Charlie Webster; "so maybe you're right." "The most interesting item in the Sun tomorrow," said Mr. Pollock, "is the word that young Cale Vick, across the river, has enlisted in the navy. He leaves on Monday for Chicago to join some sort of a training school, preparatory to taking a job on one of Uncle Sam's newest battleships,--the biggest in the world, according to his grandfather, who was in to see me a day or two ago. I have promised to send young Cale the Sun for a year without charging him a cent. Old man Brown says Amos Vick's daughter Rosabel isn't at all well. Something like walking typhoid, he says,--mopes a good deal and don't sleep well." "Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," exclaimed Courtney, real concern in his voice. "She was such a lively, light-hearted girl when I was over there. I can't imagine her moping. I hope Amos Vick isn't too close-fisted to consult a doctor. He's an awful tight-wad--believe me." "Doctor can't seem to find anything really the matter ter with her, so old Cale Brown told me," said Mr. Pollock. "But don't you think it's fine of young Cale to join the navy, Court? Maybe your tales about the war put it into his head." "It's more likely that he'd got fed up with life on a farm," said Courtney. "He'll find himself longing for the farm and mother a good many times before he's through with the navy." Instead of going up to his room immediately after supper, as was his custom of late, Courtney joined the company in the "lounging room," so named by Mr. Webster who contended that no first-class hotel ever had such a thing as a parlour any more. The Misses Dowd, of course, called it the parlour, but as they continued to refer to the fireplace as the "chimney corner," one may readily forgive their reluctance to progress. Smoking was permitted in the "lounging room" during the fall and winter months only.