George didn't hear from Dalrymple again, nor did he expect to, but he was quite aware five days later of Goodhue's absence from the office and of his black clothing when he came in during the late afternoon. He didn't need Goodhue's few words. "It's hard not to feel sorry, to believe, on the whole, it's rather better. Still, when any familiar object is unexpectedly snatched away from one----" "We had a talk the other evening," George began. Goodhue's face lighted. "I'm glad, George." He sighed. "I've got to try to catch up. Mundy says rails have taken a queer turn." "When you think for a minute not so queer," George commenced to explain. A few days later Lambert told him that Sylvia had gone to Florida. "They'll probably stay until late in the spring. It agrees with Father." "How did Sylvia seem?" George asked, anxiously. "Wait awhile," Lambert advised, "but I don't think there are going to be any spectres." He smiled engagingly. "If there shouldn't be," he went on, "a few matters will have to be arranged, because Sylvia and I share alike. Josiah and I had a long, careful talk with Father last night about what we'd do with Sylvia's husband if she married. He left it to my judgment, advising that we might take him in if he were worth his salt. Josiah wanted to know with his bull voice what Father would think if it should turn out to be you. Very seriously, George, Father was pleased. He pointed out that you were a man who made things go, but that you would end by running us all, and he added that if we wanted that we would be lucky to get you as long as it made Sylvia happy. You know we want you, George." George felt as he had that day on the Vesle when Wandel had praised him. No longer could Lambert charge him with having fulfilled his boasts, in a way; yet he hadn't consciously wanted this, nor was he quite sure that he did now. "At least," George said, "you know what my policy would be to make Planter and Company something more than a money making machine." Lambert imitated Blodgett's voice and manner. "George, if you wanted to grow hair on a bald man's head I'd say go to it." "And there must be room for Dicky," George went on. "We've played together too long to break apart now; but why talk about it? It depends on Sylvia." That was entirely true. For the present there was nothing whatever to be done. Constantly George conquered the impulse to write to Sylvia, but she didn't write or give any sign, unless Lambert's frequent quotations from her letters could be accepted as thoughtful messages.