hear the remark.

"Is that you, Bosworth?" he demanded querulously, almost on the instant.

"Yes, sir,—your long lost son. I—I thought I let you out at Purdwell's?" Bosworth seemed a bit hazy.

Mr. Van Pycke cleared his throat. "I didn't find any one at home." It did not occur to him to ask why Bosworth was there. "So I came up here, unexpectedly, mind you. I thought perhaps the weather being so dreadful, I'd be sure to find Mrs. Scoville at home. No one would think of going out on a night like this."

"Do you suppose the Purdwells went out without thinking?" asked Bosworth, innocently.

"Ring the bell," said Mr. Van Pycke, very sharply.

His son found the button with some difficulty, and gave it a violent and unintentionally prolonged push. In silence they awaited the response of the footman.

"Is your mistress at home, Bellows?" asked Mr. Van Pycke, as the door was opened part way to allow the indignant inspection of one who had certainly expected beggars.

Bellows, smileless and resourceful individual, seemed a bit uncertain, not to say upset. He glanced over his shoulder in a very far from imperious manner, apparently expecting the answer to come from the softly lighted hallway behind him.

"I'll see, Mr. Van Pycke. Will you step inside?"

"Get a broom, Bellows, and brush off some of this snow."

"Yes, sir." The footman appeared a moment later with a whisk broom. "It's a very nawsty night, sir," he informed them jointly as he began scattering the snow in all directions. From tip to toe he whisked the shivering Mr. Van Pycke, and then turned upon his silent companion. The elder slipped into the warm hall, feeling his nose in considerable agitation.

"Bellows, come in here and take my coat. By Gad, I wonder if I am likely to catch pneumonia."

"In a moment, sir."

"You—you think it likely, Bellows? That suddenly?"

Bosworth stepped inside, and Bellows gently closed the door before turning to the distressed Mr. Van Pycke, senior.

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