“Doesn't every one do that occasionally?” he asked. Dan shook off his bitterness. Recently he had been seeing a great deal of the little artist and his wife, who were about the only friends he or his father had left in Antioch. They walked on in silence Joyce was too tactful to ask any questions concerning his friend's affairs, so he ventured an impersonal criticism on Kenyon, with the modest diffidence of a man who knows he is going counter to public sentiment. “Neither Ruth nor I had any curiosity to hear him speak to-night. I heard him when he was here last. It may be my bringing up, but I do like things that are not altogether rotten, and I'm afraid I count him as sort of decayed.” Then he added: “I suppose everybody was at the Rink to-night?” “The place was packed.” “It promises to be a lively campaign, I believe, but I take very little interest in politics. My own concerns occupy most of my time. Won't you come in, Mr. Oakley?” for they had reached his gate. On the little side porch which opened off the kitchen they found Ruth. She rose with a pleased air of animation when she saw who was with her husband. Oakley had lived up to his reputation as a patron of the arts. He had not forgotten, in spite of his anxieties, the promise made Joyce months before, and at that very moment, safely bestowed in Mrs. Joyce's possession, were two formidable-looking strips of heavy pink paper, which guaranteed the passage of the holder to New York and return. “I hope this confounded strike is not going to interfere with you, Mr. Joyce,” said Oakley, as he seated himself. He had discovered that they liked to talk about their own plans and hopes, and the trip East was the chief of these. Already he had considered it with them from every conceivable point of view. “It is aggravating, for, of course, if people haven't money they can't very well afford to have pictures painted. But Ruth is managing splendidly. I really don't think it will make any special difference.” “I am determined Turner shall not miss this opportunity. I think, if it wasn't for me, Mr. Oakley, he'd give up most everything he wants to do, or has set his heart on.” “He's lucky to have you, then. Most men need looking after.” “I'm sure I do,” observed the little artist, with commendable meekness. He was keenly alive to his own shortcomings. “I'd never get any sort of prices for my work if she didn't take a hand in the bargaining.” “Some one has to be mercenary,” said Ruth, apologetically. “It's all very well to go around with your head in the clouds, but it don't pay.” “No, it don't pay,” agreed Dan. There was a long pause, which a cricket improved to make itself heard above the sweep of the night wind through the tree-tops. Then Ruth said: “I saw Miss Emory to-day. She asked about you.” Mrs. Joyce and her husband had taken a passionate interest in Oakley's love affair, and divined the utter wreck of his hopes.