Having, like some thousands of other young Americans, departed from his native land and normal routine of life for a long period on important business of a muddy, sanguinary, and profoundly wearisome nature, concerning which he had but the one wish, namely, to forget the whole ugly but necessary affair as swiftly and comprehensively as possible, Mr Jacob Remsen had deemed it wise to cut loose from home considerations as far as feasible; but he now reflected that he had perhaps made a mistake in having no mail forwarded. Well, there was nothing for it but to make up for arrears. He took off his coat and plunged in. The “immediate” special he set aside, to teach it, as he stated to the acquiescent Connor, not to be so infernally assertive and insistent, while he ran through a few scores of communications, mainly devoted to inviting him to dinners and dances which had passed into the shades anywhere from a year to eighteen months previously. “Now, I’ll attend to you,” said he severely to the special. “Only, don’t brag about your superior importance, next time.” He opened it and glanced at the heading. “Connor,” said he, “this is from Mr. Bentley.” “Yes, Mr. Jacob.” “He says it is necessary for him to see me without delay.” “Yes, sir.” “Do you believe, Connor, that it is really as necessary as he pretends for Mr. Bentley to see me without delay?” “Mr. Bentley is your lawyer, sir,” pointed out Connor firmly. “If he says so, sir, I think it would be so.” “You’re wrong, Connor; you’re wrong! This letter is dated just seven weeks ago. As I haven’t seen Mr. Bentley yet, and am still in good health and spirits, it can’t have been vitally necessary that he see me without delay, can it? Necessity knows no law, Connor, and law knows no necessity that can’t wait seven weeks.” “Mr. Bentley has been telephoning, sir, almost every day.” “Has he? Why didn’t you tell me?” “I tried to inform you about several telephone messages, Mr. Jacob—” “So you did, when you met me at the pier.” “And you told me if the telephone annoyed me, to have it taken out, sir.” “Right; right; perfectly right! Did you have it taken out?” “No, sir.” “Then it doesn’t annoy you?” “No, Mr. Jacob—” “What a blessing is philosophic calm! I’ll take pattern by you and learn not to let it annoy me, either. That’s it ringing now. Let it ring. Are my dinner clothes laid out?” “Yes, sir. And, beg pardon, sir; I think that’s the doorbell not the’phone. It’ll be Mr. Bentley. I took the liberty of ’phoning him, sir, that you’d be here in time to dress for dinner—” “His blood be on your head. Let him in, Connor.” Mr. Herbert Bentley, of Bench & Bentley, a huge, puffy man of fifty, rolled into the room, shook hands warmly with Remsen, went through the usual preliminary queries as to health, recent experience, and time of return, and then attacked the matter in hand. “How’s your family pride, Jacob?” “Languid.” “It’s likely to be stirred up a bit.”