Robert Kimberly

"Just a few minutes."

"How do you like him?" asked her brother-in-law.

Imogene laughed a little: "He is very intelligent.He confuses me a little, though; he is so brisk."

"Is he entertaining?"

Imogene shrugged her shoulders: "Yes. Only,he rather makes you feel as if he were selling yousomething, don't you know. I suppose it's hardlyfair to judge of one from the first interview. Hisviews are broad," smiled Imogene in retrospect."'I can't understand,' he said 'why our Americanmen should so unceasingly pursue money. Whatcan more than a million or two possibly be goodfor-unless to give away?'" Imogene looked witha droll smile into Kimberly's stolid face. "Whenhe said, 'a million or two,' I thought of my wretchedbrother-in-law struggling along with thirty or fortythat he hasn't yet managed to get rid of!"

"You don't think, then, he would accept a fewof them?" suggested Kimberly.

"Suppose you try him some time," smiledImogene as she walked with Kimberly to thecard-table where Fritzie and Dora Morgan sat withDoane.

"Travelling agrees with you, Robert," observed Doane.

"The country agrees with you," returnedKimberly. "Good company, I suppose, George, isthe secret."

"How is the consolidation getting along?"

"There isn't any consolidation."

"Combination, then?"

"Slowly. How is the market?"

"Our end of it is waiting on you. When shallyou have some news for us?"

"You don't need news to make a market,"returned Kimberly indifferently, as he sat down.He looked at those around the table. "What areyou doing?"

"Tell your story again, Dora," suggested Doane.

Dora Morgan looked at Kimberly defiantly."No," she said briefly.

"Pshaw, tell it," urged Doane. "It's about theVirgin Mary, Robert."

Dora was firm: "It's not a bachelor's story,"she insisted.

"Most of your stories are bachelors' stories,Dora," said Kimberly.

Dora threw away her cigarette. "Listen tothat! Didn't I tell you?" she asked appealingto Doane. "Robert is getting to be a real nice man."

In an effort to appease both sides, Doanelaughed, but somewhat carefully.

"I got into trouble only the other day in tellingthat story," continued Dora, with the sameundercurrent of defiance.

Effectively dressed, though with a tendency tocolor, and with dark, regular features, flushed alittle at night, Dora Morgan had a promise ofmanner that contrasted peculiarly with herfreedom of tongue.

"Tell us about it, Dora?" said Lottie Nelson.

"It was over at The Towers. I was telling thestory to Uncle John. His blood is red, yet," sheadded without looking at Robert Kimberly toemphasize her implication.

"Uncle John!" echoed Fritzie, at fault. "DidUncle John object?"

"Oh, no, you misunderstand. It wasn't UncleJohn." Every one but Kimberly laughed. "Iwas telling Uncle John the story, and his nurse-yourprotégé, what's his name? I never canremember-Lazarus? the queer little Italian," shesaid, appealing to Kimberly.

"Brother Francis," he answered.

"He's not so awfully little," interposed Fritzie.

"Well, he was in the room," continued Dora,"and he got perfectly furious the moment he heard it."

"Furious, Dora? Why, how funny!" exclaimedLottie Nelson, languidly.

"He turned on me like a thunder-cloud. PoorUncle John was still laughing-he laughs on oneside of his face since his stroke, and looks sofiendish, you know-when Lazarus began toglower at me. He was really insulting in hismanner. 'Oh, I didn't know you were here,' Isaid to hush him up. 'What difference shouldthat make?' he asked, and his eyes were flashing,I can tell you."

"'The Virgin Mary is no relation of yours, isshe?' I demanded frigidly. You ought to haveseen the man. You know how sallow he is; heflushed to the roots of his hair and his lips snappedlike a trap. Then he became ashamed of himself,I dare say, and his eyes fell; he put his handon his breast and bowed to me as if I had been aqueen-they certainly have the prettiest manners, these poor Italians-haven't they, Imogene?"

"But what did he say?" asked Fritzie.

"'Madame,' he exclaimed, as if I had stabbedhim to the heart, 'the Blessed Virgin is mymother.' You really would have thought I hadinsulted his own mother. They have such queerideas, these foreigners. My, but he was mad!Then, what do you think? The next day Ipassed him walking up from the lake and he cameover with such apologies! He prayed I wouldoverlook his anger-he professed to have been soshocked that he had forgotten himself-no doubthe was afraid he would lose his job."

"George, you look sleepy," Lottie Nelsoncomplained, looking at Doane. "You needsomething to wake you up. Suppose we adjourn tothe dining-room?"

Imogene returned to the piano. Kimberlywalked to the door of the dining-room with theothers. "I will go upstairs," he said to LottieNelson.

"Don't stay all night," she returned peremptorily."And come have something before you go up."

"Perhaps when I come down."

Fritzie caught his arm, and walked with himinto the hall. They talked for a moment. "Youmust meet her," declared Fritzie at length, "sheis perfectly lovely and will be over after a whilewith Dolly." Then she looked at him suddenly: "I declare, I don't believe you've heard a wordof what I've been saying."

"I'm afraid not, Fritzie, but no matter, listento what I say. Don't go in there and drink withthat bunch."

"I won't."

"Whiskey makes a fool of you."

Fritzie put up her hand: "Now don't scold."

Upstairs, Nelson and Charles Kimberly, facingeach other, were seated at a big table on which laya number of type-written sheets, beautifully clearand distinct. These they were examining.

"What are you going over?" asked Robert, taking the chair Nelson drew up for him.

"The Colorado plants."

"Our own or the MacBirney?"

"Both."