"Including tobacco?" suggested the Colonel solicitously. "Of course not." Blue eyes snapped indignantly. The boyish look was back in the Colonel's face. "I only wanted to be sure," he explained soberly. "It has a very important place here." "Oh, Colonel Ryan, you will joke, and I am so in earnest." Her eyes were dark and tender and a soft pink flushed her cheeks. "A concert at the Lucinda Home would be a wonderful thing if I could get your band." "You can," the Colonel promised, laconically, "and it won't cost you a cent." He became enthusiastic, "It will be a fine treat for the old ladies and my boys will enjoy it, too. I'll have to warn the old rascals about flirting," he chuckled. "They think that they are regular devils among the ladies. I think that I will have to come along myself to keep the old boys from breaking any ancient hearts." "Will you come, Colonel Ryan?" "Surely. You may count on me. Are there to be refreshments?" "Why--yes!" She had never given a thought to them before, and when she considered the food that it would take it almost frightened her. "My old boys can eat as well as ever, particularly if it is soft stuff. That band has less teeth than any similar organization in the world. It is the toothless wonder," chuckled the Colonel. "Be sure that you have plenty to eat." As they ascended the steps of the Colonel's porch, Virginia warned him, "Don't mention the concert to my father. I want to surprise him." They found that Obadiah had exhausted his praises of the marvelous liniment. Mrs. Ryan was now talking, and, though the subject-matter was the same, the mill owner was not a reciprocal listener. He felt that an immediate departure for home was necessary. The Dale car rolled away from the Soldiers' Home, leaving the Commanding Officer standing, hat in hand, upon the curb. A broad smile broke over his face. "A band concert at the Lucinda Home," he chuckled. "You might as well give one out in the cemetery." His face softened. "Bless her heart," he whispered, as he turned back towards his house. CHAPTER IX HEZEKIAH HAS A SOLUTION Mr. Jones had finished transcribing Obadiah Dale's morning dictation and awaited a fitting moment to place the letters before the manufacturer to receive his signature. Meanwhile, he smoked a cigarette and, with his face sadly distorted on account of the smoke, manicured his nails with his pocket knife. This important part of a gentleman's toilet would gladly have been left by Mr. Jones to a professional manicurist, because of the more skilled attention and the valuable social privileges attached to such services, had not the chronically depleted condition of his purse demanded the exercise of rigorous economy. In the glare of the pendant bulb, Kelly was engaged artistically in the preparation of a crude but libelous cartoon of the stenographer.