“Think so? Well, I hope she won’t mind having me. Don’t let them put themselves out for me, Phil. Never mind the dance, you know; I’m getting too old for such frivolous things. As for excitement, why, we can do without that for a few days. Elaine offers me one inducement that is quite sufficient.” “You mean the shooting?” asked Phillip. “Eh? Oh, yes; the shooting, of course. Let me see, Phil, we’re to shoot――what is it? Ducks?” “Why, no; partridge, of course,” replied Phillip, gazing at the other in astonishment. “To be sure; partridge. The partridge is an exasperating bird that always goes off like a watchman’s rattle when you’re not expecting it and leaves your nerves in a state of collapse. Yes, Phil, we will sally forth with dogs and guns and sandwiches and shoot the merry little partridge on its native heath. Does the Virginia partridge live on a heath, Phil?” “Oh, you’re crazy,” answered the other in disgust. “I’m going now. But I’m awfully glad you’re coming South, John; it’s mighty good of you.” “Don’t mention it. My regards to your folks when you write, and tell them I accept their kind invitation with a great deal of pleasure. So long. You said we were to shoot partridges, didn’t you?” “I reckon you’re drunk,” answered Phillip. “I must get on.” “So you’ve remarked several times. Don’t let me hurry you.” There was no apparent danger of that, for Phillip, instead of rushing off, was strolling about the study looking at the pictures as though they had suddenly acquired a new interest, and giving especial attention to the objects on the mantel. John watched him speculatingly as he drew on his coat. “Help yourself if you see anything you fancy,” he said. “I will, then.” Phillip took a photograph from the mantel. “I’ll take this; much obliged. Good-by.” “Hold on, there! What have you got?” “Just an old photograph of you.” He held it up. “Oh; well, take it away. It’s not beautiful, Phil, but I’m told it flatters me quite a bit. I presume I get one of you in return?” “When I have any you do,” laughed Phillip. “I’m off.” “Queer chap,” mused John, when the door was closed. “Wonder why he wanted the picture?” He put a couple of balls in his pocket and took up his bag. Then, his eye falling on the still slumbering David, he balanced six discarded clubs about him in such a way that they would topple to the floor at the slightest movement, and left the room.