"What? What's that?" Mrs. Payson had exclaimed; and had looked about the table and then at her sister as though that thoughtful old lady had taken leave of her senses. "What!" They were undeniably having tongue with spinach. "Game-fish!" repeated Aunt Charlotte Thrift, gazing straight at Lottie. Lottie waited, expectantly. "Your Grandfather Thrift had a saying: 'Only the game-fish swim upstream.'" "Oh," said Lottie; and even coloured a little, like a girl. Mrs. Payson had regarded her elder sister pityingly. "Well, how did you happen to drag that in, Charlotte?" In a tone which meant, simply--"Childish! Senile!" On this particular Friday night the Kemps were indeed there as Lottie ran quickly up the front steps of the house on Prairie. The Kemp car, glossy and substantial, stood at the curb. Charley drove it with dashing expertness. At the thought of Charley the anxious frown between Lottie Payson's fine brows smoothed itself out. Between aunt and niece existed an affection and understanding so strong, so deep, so fine as to be more than a mere blood bond. Certainly no such feeling had ever existed between Lottie and her sister Belle; and no such understanding united Belle and her daughter Charley. The old walnut and glass front door slammed after Lottie. They were in the living room--the back parlor of Isaac Thrift's day. "Lottie!" Mrs. Payson's voice; metallic. "Yes." "Well!" Mrs. Payson was standing, facing the door as Lottie came in. She was using her cane this evening. She always walked with her cane when she was displeased with Lottie or Belle; some obscure reason existed for it. She reminded you of one of these terrifying old dowagers of the early English novels. "Hello, Belle! Hello, Henry! Sorry I'm late." Charley Kemp came over to Lottie in the doorway. Niece and aunt clasped hands--a strange, brief, close grip, like that between two men. No words. "Late! I should think you are late. You knew this was Friday night." "Now, now mother." Henry Kemp had a man's dread of a scene. "Lottie's not a child. We've only been here a few minutes." "She might as well be--" ignoring his second remark. "Tell Hulda we're all here. Call Aunt Charlotte." "I'll just skip back and beat up the Roquefort dressing first. Hulda gets it so lumpy.... Minute...." "Lottie!" Mrs. Payson's voice was iron. "Lottie Payson, you change your good suit skirt first!" Henry Kemp shouted. Mrs. Payson turned on him. "Well, what's funny about that!" He buried his face in the evening paper. Belle's rather languid tones were heard now for the first time. "Lot, is that your winter hat you're still wearing?" "Winter?--You don't mean to tell me I ought to be wearing a summer one! Already!" Lottie turned to go upstairs, dutifully. The suit skirt. "Already! Why, it's March. Everybody----" "I slipped and almost fell on the ice at the corner of twenty-ninth," Lottie retorted, laughingly, leaning over the balustrade. "What earthly difference does that make!"