Hiram's steadfast gray eyes met bravely the eyes of the man who had just read him his death warrant. A long pause; then Hiram said "Thank you," in his quiet, calm way. He took the prescriptions, went out into the street. It looked strange to him; he felt like a stranger in that town where he had spent half a century--felt like a temporary tenant of that vast, strong body of his which until now had seemed himself. And he--or was it the stranger within him?--kept repeating: "Put your house in order. Put your house in order." CHAPTER II OF SOMEBODIES AND NOBODIES At the second turning Arthur rounded the tandem out of Jefferson Street into Willow with a skill that delighted both him and his sister. "But why go that way?" said she. "Why not through Monroe street? I'm sure the horses would behave." "Better not risk it," replied Arthur, showing that he, too, had had, but had rejected, the temptation to parade the crowded part of town. "Even if the horses didn't act up, the people might, they're such jays." Adelaide's estimate of what she and her brother had acquired in the East was as high as was his, and she had the same unflattering opinion of those who lacked it. But it ruffled her to hear him call the home folks jays--just as it would have ruffled him had she been the one to make the slighting remark. "If you invite people's opinion," said she, "you've no right to sneer at them because they don't say what you wanted." "But _I_'m not driving for show if _you_ are," he retorted, with a testiness that was confession. "Don't be silly," was her answer. "You know you wouldn't take all this trouble on a desert island." "Of course not," he admitted, "but I don't care for the opinion of any but those capable of appreciating." "And those capable of appreciating are only those who approve," teased Adelaide. "Why drive tandem among these 'jays?'" "To keep my hand in," replied he; and his adroit escape restored his good humor. "I wish I were as free from vanity as you are, Arthur, dear," said she. "You're just as fond of making a sensation as I am," replied he. "And, my eye, Del! but you _do_ know how." This with an admiring glance at her most becoming hat with its great, gracefully draped _chiffon_ veil, and at her dazzling white dust-coat with its deep blue facings that matched her eyes. She laughed. "Just wait till you see my new dresses--and hats." "Another shock for your poor father." "Shock of joy." "Yes," assented Arthur, rather glumly; "he'll take anything off you. But when I--" "It's no compliment to me," she cut in, the prompter to admit the truth because it would make him feel better. "He thinks I'm 'only a woman,' fit for nothing but to look pretty as long as I'm a girl, and then to devote myself to a husband and children, without any life or even ideas of my own."