“He tried to get some money at the bank——” Nathan began. “Sure! I know! I’m head o’ the discount committee. I turned down his loan. A man that can’t run his family no better than your dad’s run his can’t run no business—on bank money, anyhow. If he gets sick and quits, or there’s any way for you to have full charge o’ the business, come and see me, bub. But your dad’s exactly my idea o’ nothin’ to brag about, and the sooner he finds it out, the better!” Tears came to Nathan’s eyes. “I’m much obliged, Mr. Gridley,” he choked. “That’s all right, bub. Come ’round some day and we’ll talk poetry. We was so kind of busy boomin’ the leather business just before your dad took you away that we almost forget poetry, didn’t we? But maybe we can ring in a day or two yet. Writin’ any more yourself?” “I’ve been so interested in getting the shop running smoothly I haven’t had time.” “Pshaw, now! Don’t you go lettin’ business get ye too hard! You’re a poet, young feller, and you got a talent that demands development.” “I wish I could make dad see it.” “He’s goin’ to see it one o’ these days. But I’m all-fired ’fraid—it’s goin’ to be too late!” Nathan reluctantly withdrew and started downstairs. Caleb came after him in slippered feet, vest unbuttoned. This sort of thing always horrified his Duchess. If she could have had her way, the tanner would have spent his time at home in a dinner jacket. At the foot of the stairs a young woman was being helped into her cloak. It was a bright red cloak, trimmed with gray lambskin. She had been the caller in the side room when Nathan went up. “Know this girl, maybe?” asked Caleb of Nathan. The boy colored. “I’ve not had that pleasure,” he answered. He had heard the minister’s wife so rise to a similar situation and considered it neat. “Introduce ’em, Clem,” suggested Caleb. His wife’s name was Clementina but Clem was plenty good enough for Caleb. She was far from being a Duchess to her husband. The woman withered her husband with a glance of loathing, then forced a wooden smile. “This is Mr. Nathan Forge,” she condescended. “Mr. Forge, Miss Carol Gardner.” “Hello!” said Miss Carol Gardner. And she giggled. Nathan bowed stiffly. He raised his hand, lowered it, raised it again, thrust it behind him. “Mr. Forge has been engaged with my husband in the leather business,” the Duchess explained largely. Then to Nathan, “Miss Gardner has recently come from Ohio to visit her grandparents, Mr. and Mrs. Archibald Cuttner.” Nathan bowed stiffly again. It was characteristic of him, a habit he had acquired the last few years, to turn his mutilated ear away from those with whom he might be conversing. But his eyes had met the roguish, laughing face of the Gardner girl. And he had seen—enough. She was very easy to gaze upon. “If you’re leavin’,” suggested Caleb to Miss Gardner, “Nat better hoof it along with you to see you don’t up-end on the ice. The walk is slippery to-night.”