The man’s tolerant dealing with his family impressed Gurdy. Here was a controlled and level affection, not Mark’s worship. It was a healthier thing. He watched his father’s amiable scorn while Mrs. Bernamer and the whole household fussed variously over young Edward’s inflamed neck after supper. The boil was central in the talk of the red living room. Grandfather Walling tried to think of some ancient remedy and fell asleep pondering. The two bigger lads hovered and chuckled over the eruption. The sisters neglected some swains who came calling. Mrs. Bernamer sat mending the grey breeches of the military uniform Edward wasn’t wearing. The boil maintained itself over gossip of the village, the Military Academy and female questions about the Jannan dance. At ten Bernamer said, “Go to bed, all of you. Got to talk business to Gurdy.” The family kissed Gurdy and departed. Grandfather Walling’s snore roamed tenderly down into the stillness. Bernamer got out the chessboard and uncorked a bottle of vicious pear cider. They smoked and played the endless game. At twelve the telephone bell shore off his father’s sentences. Gurdy clapped a palm on the jangling at his elbow and picked up the instrument. Olive Ilden spoke in her most artificial, clearest voice. “We’re in New York, dear. The doctor telephoned about eight and we came up directly. I think you’d best come, Gurdy.” “Mr. Carlson?” “Yes. He’ll be gone in a few hours. Mark’s so distressed and--the old man asked for you.” Bernamer said, “No train until three thirty, son.” “I’ll get there as fast, as I can,” Gurdy told her, “Margot there?” “No. She’d gone to dine with her friend--Mrs. Calder--and Mark didn’t want her here. I’ll tell Mark you’re coming, then. Good-bye.” Gurdy rang off. His father nodded, “Mark’ll miss the old feller. Been mighty good to him. Funny old man. Always liked him. Poor Mark! Well, you say this Englishwoman’s sensible. That’s some help.” Gurdy was glad of Olive’s sanity, wished that the thought of this death didn’t make his heart thump for a little. His father would drive him into Trenton at two. They played chess again. Bernamer made sandwiches of beef and thick bread. The red walls clouded with cigarette smoke. It was two when the bell again rang. “Dead, prob’ly,” said Bernamer. The operator asked for Gurdy. There was a shrill wrangling of women behind which a man spoke loudly and savagely. His impatience cracked through the buzzing. It wasn’t Mark when the man spoke clearly at last. “This is Russell, Gurdy. Can you hear? You must come here at once.” “To Philadelphia? What’s happened? Mr. Carlson’s dying and--” “I know. And I can’t bother Walling. You must come here as fast as you can. Can you speak German?... I’ll try to talk French; then.” After a moment Gurdy said, “All right. I’ll come as fast as I can. Get hold of the hotel manager. Money--” “The detective’s got a check. That’s all right. Hurry up, though.”