[Illustration] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Happy Average By BRAND WHITLOCK AUTHOR OF "Her Infinite Variety," "The 13th District, etc." ILLUSTRATED BY HOWARD CHANDLER CHRISTY A. L. BURT COMPANY Publishers New York ------------------------------------------------------------------------ COPYRIGHT, 1904 THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY OCTOBER ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Happy Average CHAPTER I A YOUNG MAN'S FANCY "Come on, old man." Lawrence led the way with a jaunty step that was intended to show his easy footing with the Carters. But Marley lagged behind. Even if calling on girls had not been such a serious business with him, he could not forget that he was just graduated from college and that a certain dignity befitted him. He wished Lawrence would not speak so loud; the girls might hear, and think he was afraid; he wished to keep the truth from them as long as possible. He had already caught a glimpse of the girls, or thought he had, but before he could make sure, the vague white figures on the veranda stirred; he heard a scurrying, and the loose bang of a screen door. Then it was still. Lawrence laughed--somehow, as Marley felt, derisively. The way from the sidewalk up to the Carters' veranda was not long, of course, though it seemed long to Marley, and Marley's deliberation made it seem long to Lawrence. They paused at the steps of the veranda, and Lawrence made a low bow. "Good evening, Mrs. Carter," he said. "Ah, Captain, you here too?" Marley had not noticed the captain, or Mrs. Carter; they sat there so quietly, enjoying the cool of the evening, or such cool as a July evening can find in central Ohio. "My friend, Mr. Marley, Mrs. Carter--Glenn Marley--you've heard of him, Captain." Marley bowed and said something. The presentation there in the darkness made it rather difficult for him, and neither the captain nor his wife moved. Lawrence sat down on the steps and fanned himself with his hat. "Been a hot day, Captain," he said. "Think there's any sign of rain?" He sniffed the air. The captain did not need to sniff the air to be able to reply, in a voice that rumbled up from his bending figure, that he had no hope of any. "Mayme's home, ain't she?" asked Lawrence, turning to Mrs. Carter. "I'll go see," said Mrs. Carter, and she rose quickly, as if glad to get away, and the screen door slammed again.