disgust. “Wrinkled old harridan in a black wig! What should I want to meet her for?” Ogden studied him thoughtfully—“You don’t resemble your father. Neither did Carol. You must have had a beautiful mother.” “We did.” Hugh felt in an inside pocket and took out a small rubbed morocco photograph case. Opening it, he handed it to his friend. [16] [16] Color came into the latter’s face as he looked at it. “Carol!” he exclaimed. “No. Mother. What do you think of old Sukey for trying to lay father off that peach?” “I’d give a thousand dollars for this picture,” said Ogden, upon which Hugh took it from him without ceremony and returned it to his inside pocket. “It was Carol’s,” he said. “She gave it to me to take over there. I guess it was a mascot, for I pulled through some tight places.” John Ogden continued to gaze at him for sheer pleasure in the way his lips curved over the faultless teeth in an occasional smile, bringing back his romance with the gentle girl, who liked him, but not well enough— “Well,” said Hugh, rising, “I mustn’t take any more of your time, Mr. Ogden. I had forgotten there were dinners like that in the world, and I thank you, I’m sure, for bothering yourself.” He held out his hand, but his host took him by the sleeve. “Don’t be in a hurry, old man,” he said. “The party isn’t over yet. Have you any best girl you want to go to see?” “Divil a girl. I called up one that I’d met one evening, and asked if I could drop in, and she said, ‘Certainly,’ and went on to ask what[17] we were going to do—what were we going to see? ‘Good-night,’ said I, and hung up with a click. My first and last offense.” [17] John Ogden laughed. “Sit down, then, if there is no meeting of the Reds to-night.” Hugh laughed and dropped back into his chair. “I’ve had an idea,” said his friend. “You liked the dinner. How would you like to have one like that every night?”
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