"Then I wonder you've got a friend left. But, all joking aside, I wouldn't take anything for Dale, and have really grown to like him a whole lot. If he could just get over giving me the creeps! I can't describe what there is about him--his native crudity, doubtless." "I should forgive crudities in one whose heart is right," the Colonel temporized. "It's in oysters that pearls are found, and surely oysters could not be termed finished." "Your originality is dazzling," Brent looked across at him, "even though I can't agree with you. I've usually found oysters finished all too soon;--and much easier to swallow than your superannuated moral axioms." The old gentleman began to laugh. "On my word, sir, you are hopeless! But, if he meets Jane's expectations, you will see him one of these days with a masterful grasp on the abstruse questions of life, and striding on to undisputed success. Jane has never been so enthusiastic about anything as this rapid development. She's planning wonders with him!" Brent was silent, gloomily watching the smoke from his cigarette. Pointedly ignoring the personal element, at last he said: "I was just trying to decide whether success in life depends as much on grasping its abstruse questions, as the faculty of picking out its soft snaps! But he's a poverty stricken beggar, and I wish him luck." The old gentleman's eyes twinkled as he observed Brent's gloom. It had an effect of pleasing him, and he banteringly advanced another moral axiom: "There are worse misfortunes than being poor!" "That may be, Colonel," he sighed. "I'm not familiar with all the tortures. Anyway, I'll bury the issue, along with my nose, in the delectable juleps Timmie is bringing." "You must have caught her eye," the old gentleman smiled, watching her waddle through the hall with an inviting tray. "Or Miss Liz is taking a nap," the other suggested, raising one of the frosted goblets. "Here's to the gratification of your merest whim, sir!" Both drank a swallow, and then sat upright staring at each other in amazement. "God bless my soul!" the Colonel gasped, "what is this stuff?" "It tastes like raspberry juice," Brent answered, warily taking another sip. "But it's sort of good--it's real good!" The old gentleman gingerly sipped it now, and then once more, while his lips made the soft smacking noise of taste on an investigation. "By Godfry, it is good," he wagged his head convincingly. "It's mighty good, sir!--er--perhaps Lizzie was not asleep, after all!" After a few moments of contented silence--when Aunt Timmie had tiptoed back to the kitchen and was relating to Miss Liz the success of their undertaking--the Colonel asked: "How is the road coming on?" A month earlier Brent would have evaded this subject, but now his eyes sparkled with pleasure.