Knives, forks, glasses--for he intended to share the meal--salt, pepper, bread--in a dozen light-hearted journeys he managed to bring everything he considered necessary; and he was just standing back to admire his own handiwork when the electric bell pealed loudly through the silent flat. "Here he is, by Jove!" Barry all but dropped the vase of chrysanthemums he was carrying to the table, and setting it down hastily he went to the door, in a flutter of anticipation, of hospitality, and, if the truth be told, of nervousness. Opening the door: "Is that you, Owen?" he asked--a superfluous question, for he knew his visitor well enough. "Come in, old chap--you must be soaked--it's a frightful night!" "Soaked--I should just say I am!" Owen Rose accepted the invitation and stepped inside, shaking himself like a dog as he did so. "Lord, Barry, what a climate! I declare I'd sooner live in Timbuctoo!" "Oh, the climate's all right--only a bit moist," returned Barry philosophically. "But come on in--take off your coat and come to the fire. Any luggage?" "No, I've sent it on to my place." He drew himself out of his big coat as he spoke. "I thought I'd come up and see you for half an hour first of all. Jolly glad you're at home. You got my wire?" "Yes, a few minutes ago. Come and have something to eat." They were in the sitting-room by now. "There's not much, but I hadn't time to kill the fatted calf." "Looks like it." Owen's eyes roamed over the cheerful little supper-table. "Barry, you're a fraud. Chicken, apple-pie--what more can man desire? But I confess I _am_ hungry, though I didn't come for a meal." "Well, sit down and let's begin," said Barry practically. "I dined at my aunt's to-night, and as usual I couldn't get much to eat! She asked me so many questions about ..." he coloured and hurried on "... about everything, that by the time I'd finished answering them dinner was over!" "I see." Owen accepted the plate Barry handed him. "Well, you're looking very fit, Barry. How's things?" "Oh, fair." Barry paused in the act of pouring out a whisky-and-soda. "That's to say, I'm still with old Joliffe, and got a rise of screw last quarter." "Did you! Well, wait till we get the review going, and see if I don't tempt you away from that dictatorial old boss of yours!" "Oh, I'll come to you all right," said Barry gaily. "But in the meantime I'd better hang on in the House of Rimmon, hadn't I? You see ..." He broke off, the colour mounting to his face. "Of course. You're thinking of Olive. Quite right, too. How is she, Barry? Well?" "A 1." Barry fell to on his supper with renewed zest. "Longing to see you, old chap. By the way"--he slid rather dexterously away from the subject--"you promised her a skin or something, didn't you? Have any luck?"