“You know,” he said confidentially to Glen on one occasion, “I believe his mother marked him ... she might have been frightened by a funny paper....” His prime favorites were Glory and a dusky shepherd of sheep, the Reverend Romeo Bird whom he had met in his first ramble through the negro quarters. He spent many long and lazy hours in the sunshine with him, drawing him out on theology and religion. They appeared to have much the same habit of body, young Mr. Parker from Pasadena and the Reverend Romeo, but while the youth was just as peaceful and as stationary in his mind, the dusky preacher was careful and troubled about many things. He was almost overcome when the strange young gentleman took a seat in a rear pew of his church one Sunday morning, accompanied by Miss Janice Jennings who had brought her grandmother to the Bella Vista for a fortnight on their way home from Florida. She had met him on the green and leafy Avenue of The Hill with a squeal of delight. “As I live, it’s Peter Pan! ‘The Playboy of the Western World!’ _What_ are you doing here?” “If it isn’t Babe Jennings!” He reflected her pleasure. “Look what spring has brought us! Greetings and hail!” “But what, I ask, are you doing here?” “Plying my trade.” “That of lotus eater?” “That of mill owner in good and regular standing! Down there,” he waved a hand toward the Altonia far below them, “toil my minions! I watch ’em. By the sweat of my brow, once removed.” “_’Atta_ boy! Where are you going now?” “To the darky church. You can come if you promise not to emit the loud guffaw that speaks the vacant mind.” He fell into leisurely step beside her. “Babe, I’m for this place a million! And the people! Crazy about ’em.” She considered him darkly. “If you’re crazy about Nancy Carey I’m off you for life.” “Why?” “She’s a Dumb Dora.” “But _very_ easy to look at, you grant me?” “I grant you. But something less than nothing to listen to. Peter, _don’t_! Dead above the ears. Wouldn’t get you at all.” “Like the Ancient Mariner, you feel--Stoppeth one of three?” “No, that’s too high an average. But speaking of your minions, you have one called Glen Darrow.” “Ah? Have I?” He knitted his brows. “Let me see ... sort of secretary to the handsome super, isn’t she?... Red-headed, as I remember.” “Don’t lie to me, Peter Pan. Any old time that you haven’t noticed Glen Darrow! Listen! I’ve known Glen since we were little squabs in primary school, and I want to tell you--” She told him briskly and vividly, and when she paused---- “Speak on; you interest me,” said Peter Parker. They were arrived at the little brown church. “Well, that’s the whole scenario, Peter Pan. You’ll have to do your own continuity.” “Meaning which?”