"Well, maybe I'll be riding out this way sometime. But you remember what I said about mixing! You stick to your side of the fence, and I'll try to stick to mine." "Suppose I'm not altogether content with my side?" "I guess you'll have to grin and bear it. I don't reckon to spend much time pitying you. It looks to me rather pretty on your side." As they were shaking hands, the chug of an automobile could be heard in the roadway. "That must be my husband!" Helen exclaimed. "Won't you wait a minute and see him?" The heavy, lumbering machine with its ugly fat wheels rolled up the driveway, and after a final heave and sigh came to a stand before the veranda. The driver leaped down and opened the little door in the rear for his master to descend. The architect was smoking a cigar and carried in his arms a heavy bag of papers and books. "Hello, Nell!" he called cheerily, and then looked inquiringly at the man beside her. "Francis, this is Mr. Hussey. You remember Mr. Hussey who gave us lessons in bookbinding?" "How do you do?" The architect greeted Hussey with a pleasant nod. "Very glad to see you again." He held out his free hand in the simple, cordial fashion that made him popular in his office and with the foremen on his buildings. He always made a point of being genial with working people. He got more out of them that way and often avoided friction. He usually carried about with him a handful of black and strong cigars, which he dealt out on the slightest occasion. "Sit down again, won't you?" he remarked. "Have a cigar?" He pulled out one of the proper variety from his inner pocket. "I don't smoke," the bookbinder replied shortly. He made no further remark, and the architect, also, found himself at the end of his cordiality. Helen realized that the two men had nothing whatsoever to talk about. Jackson could have discussed bindings in a dilettante fashion, meaning certain rich and costly specimens of the art that wealthy amateurs bought and locked up in cabinets, but he knew nothing about the ordinary trade. "Mr. Hussey rode out from the city on a bicycle," Helen explained. "I met him on the bridge and induced him to come up here and rest for a little while." "Yes, it's hot," Jackson answered. "Fearfully hot on the train from Indianapolis this morning. I haven't been cool all day until Fred let out the machine coming over from the station." Hussey looked at the lumbering automobile sighing to itself below the veranda, and then at the chauffeur, who was waiting for orders. "Good day," he said abruptly. "It's some longer to the city on a wheel than in one of them affairs."