LITMIR.BIZ

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two disappeared into the bedroom, leaving de Laney uncomfortably alone with the occupants of the window ledge.

      The young fellow walked awkwardly across the room and sat down on a partly empty chair, not because he preferred sitting to standing, but in order to give himself time to recover from his embarrassment.

      The sort of chaffing to which he had just been subjected was direct and brutal; it touched all his tender spots—the very spots wherein he realized the intensest soreness of his deficiencies, and about which, therefore, he was the most sensitive—yet, somehow, he liked it. This was because the Leslie boys meant to him everything free and young that he had missed in the precise atmosphere of his own home, and so he admired them and stood in delightful inferiority to them in spite of his wealth and position. He would have given anything he owned to have felt himself one of their sort; but, failing that, the next best thing was to possess their intimacy. Of this intimacy chaffing was a gauge. Bennington Clarence de Laney always glowed at heart when they rubbed his fur the wrong way, for it showed that they felt they knew him well enough to do so. And in this there was something just a little pathetic.

      Bennington held to the society standpoint with men, so he thought he must keep up a conversation. He did so. It was laboured. Bennington thought of things to say about Art, the Theatre, and Books. Hench and Beck looked at each other from time to time.

      Finally the door opened, and, to the relief of all, two sweatered and white-ducked individuals appeared.

      "And now, Jeems, we'll smoke the pipe of peace," suggested Bert, diving for the mantel and the pipe rack.

      "Correct, my boy," responded Jeems, doing likewise. They lit up, and turned with simultaneous interest to their latest caller.

      "And how is the proud plutocrat?" inquired Bert; "and how did he contrive to get leave to visit us rude and vulgar persons?"

      The Leslies had called at the de Laneys', and, as Bert said, had dined there once. They recognised their status, and rejoiced therein.

      "He is calling on the minister," explained Jeems for him. "Bennington, my son, you'll get caught at that some day, as sure as shooting. If your mamma ever found out that, instead of talking society-religion to old Garnett, you were revelling in this awful dissipation, you'd have to go abroad again."

      "What did you call him?" inquired Bert.

      "Call who?"

      "Him—Bennie—what was that full name?"

      "Bennington."

      "Great Scott! and here I've been thinking all the time he was plain Benjamin! Tell us about it, my boy. What is it? It sounds like a battle of the Revolution. Is it a battle of the Revolution? Just to think that all this time we have been entertaining unawares a real live battle!"

      De Laney grinned, half-embarrassed as usual.

      "It's a family name," said he. "It's the name of an ancestor."

      He never knew whether or not these vivacious youths really desired the varied information they demanded.

      The Leslies looked upon him with awe.

      "You don't mean to tell me," said Bertie, "that you are a Bennington! Well, well! This is a small world! We will celebrate the discovery." He walked to the door and touched a bell five times. "Beautiful system," he explained. "In a moment Karl will appear with five beers. This arrangement is possible because never, in any circumstances, do we ring for anything but beer."

      The beer came. Two steins, two glasses, and a carefully scrubbed shaving mug were pressed into service. After the excitement of finding all these things had died, and the five men were grouped about the place in ungraceful but comfortable attitudes, Bennington bid for the sympathy he had sought in this visit.

      "Fellows," said he, "I've something to tell you."

      "Let her flicker," said Jim.

      "I'm going away next week. It's all settled."

      "Bar Harbour, Trouville, Paris, or Berlin?"

      "None of them. I'm going West."

      "Santa Barbara, Los Angeles, San Diego, or Monterey?"

      "None of them. I'm going to the real West. I'm going to a mining camp."

      The Leslies straightened their backbones.

      "Don't spring things on us that way," reproved Bertie severely; "you'll give us heart disease. Now repeat softly."

      "I am going to a mining camp," obeyed Bennington, a little shamefacedly.

      "With whom?"

      "Alone."

      This time the Leslies sprang quite to their feet.

      "By the Great Horn Spoon, man!" cried Jim. "Alone! No chaperon! Good Lord!"

      "Yes," said Bennington, "I've always wanted to go West. I want to write, and I'm sure, in that great, free country, I'll get a chance for development. I had to work hard to induce father and mother to consent, but it's done now, and I leave next week. Father procured me a position out there in one of the camps. I'm to be local treasurer, or something like that; I'm not quite sure, you see, for I haven't talked with Bishop yet. I go to his office for directions to-morrow."

      At the mention of Bishop the Leslies glanced at each other behind the young man's back.

      "Bishop?" repeated Jim. "Where's your job located?"

      "In the Black Hills of South Dakota, somewhere near a little place called Spanish Gulch."

      This time the Leslies winked at each other.

      "It's a nice country," commented Bert vaguely; "I've been there."

      "Oh, have you?" cried the young man. "What's it like?"

      "Hills, pines, log houses, good hunting—oh, it's Western enough."

      A clock struck in a church tower outside. In spite of himself, Bennington started.

      "Better run along home," laughed Jim; "your mamma will be angry."

      To prove that this consideration carried no weight, Bennington stayed ten minutes longer. Then he descended the five flights of stairs deliberately enough, but once out of earshot of his friends, he ran several blocks. Before going into the house he took off his shoes. In spite of the precaution, his mother called to him as he passed her room. It was half past ten.

      Beck and Hench kicked de Laney's chair aside, and drew up more comfortably before the fire; but James would have none of it. He seemed to be excited.

      "No," he vetoed decidedly. "You fellows have got to get out! I've got something to do, and I can't be bothered."

      The visitors grumbled. "There's true hospitality for you," objected they; "turn your best friends out into the cold world! I like that!"

      "Sorry, boys," insisted James, unmoved. "Got an inspiration. Get out! Vamoose!"

      They went, grumbling loudly down the length of the stairs, to the disgust of the Lady with the Piano on the floor below.

      "What're you up to, anyway, Jimmie?" inquired the brother with some curiosity.

      James had swept a space clear on the table, and was arranging some stationery.

      "Don't you care," he replied; "you just sit down and read your little Omar for a while."

      He plunged into the labours of composition, and Bert sat smoking meditatively. After some moments the writer passed a letter over to the smoker.

      "Think it'll do?" he inquired.

      Bert read the letter through carefully.

      "Jeems," said he, after due deliberation, "Jeems, you're a blooming genius."

      James stamped the envelope.

      "I'll mail it for you when I go out in

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