“Yes, ma’am. Of course, he doesn’t talk about it. I haven’t seen Mr. Alexander much for a couple of weeks; he’s been busy and I’ve been busy—we lunch at the same place sometimes. I know some of his friends—Mr. Leverich for one—slightly in the way of business. Mr. Martin—Mr. Martin’s a man _nobody_ knows more’n slightly. You would not think he was such a smart business man, would you? He’s so sort of small and feeble-looking, and has such a little lisping voice. But _I_ don’t care for any dealings with him; those little clawlike hands of his rake in all they touch. Now you think I’m hard on him, don’t you?” He hesitated, and then went on, looking with a veiled shrewdness at Lois: “Martin sort of reminds me of somethin’ that happened with my two boys when I was home at Christmas. They’re little shavers, Mrs. Alexander, right cute, too, if they are mine. Miss Dosia, here, she can tell you.” “They are dear little fellows,” said Dosia warmly. “They were going up-stairs to bed. I was behind ’em, and Angy—that’s the eldest, he’s six—was stoppin’ the way; so I says to him, ‘What’s stoppin’ you, son?’ and he answers: ‘Oh, I’m carryin’ up Jim’s cake and my cake, and I’m eatin’ _Jim’s cake now_.’ That’s like Martin for all the world—always carryin’ somebody’s cake for ’em, and swallowin’ it on the way. Well, doesn’t it seem good to be lookin’ at you again, Miss Dosia! But I’m sorry Alexander isn’t in, too.” “Oh, I hope he’ll come before you leave,” returned Lois. It seemed a foregone conclusion that he must, when it was discovered that the nine-forty-five train back to town was then on the point of departure, half a mile away, and the next did not leave until eleven-fifteen. There was a genuineness about Mr. Cater which could not fail to win responsive recognition, but the contemplation of an inexorably fixed time over which conversation must be spread has an indescribably paralyzing effect on spontaneity. Like many talkative people, Mr. Cater developed a way, when you counted upon his garrulousness, of suddenly becoming silent. Lois busied herself in collecting the materials for refreshment, while Dosia and he conversed laboriously and minutely about the denizens of Balderville, to the third and fourth generation. The very word “home” carried such suggested association that Dosia half forgot that it had never been one for her, and that to leave its semblance had been a joy. When the little meal was ready, Lois manipulated the chafing-dish and Dosia served. Mr. Cater moved to the little chair drawn up with the others by the small mahogany table, and relaxed once more. “Well, this is comfort,” he said, with a sort of wistful gratitude. “I’ve been thinkin’ ’twas pretty inconsiderate of me to miss that train, but I’m sort of glad now that I did. When I see you two beautiful young ladies takin’ all this trouble for me—well, I just can’t tell you how I appreciate it; sort of warms me up inside.”