* * * * * "And listen to this," began Harrigan, turning over a page. "'It is

considered bad form to call the butler to your side when you are a guest.

Catch his eye. He will understand that something is wanted.' How's that?"

"That's the way to live." Courtlandt grinned, and tilted back his chair

until it rested against the oak.

The morning was clear and mild. Fresh snow lay upon the mountain tops;

later it would disappear. The fountain tinkled, and swallows darted hither

and thither under the sparkling spray. The gardeners below in the

vegetable patch were singing. By the door of the villa sat two old ladies,

breakfasting in the sunshine. There was a hint of lavender in the lazy

drifting air. A dozen yards away sat Abbott, two or three brushes between

his teeth and one in his hand. A little behind was Celeste, sewing posies

upon one of those squares of linen toward which all women in their idle

moments are inclined, and which, on finishing, they immediately stow away

in the bottom of some trunk against the day when they have a home of their

own, or marry, or find some one ignorant enough to accept it as a gift.

"'And when in doubt,'" continued Harrigan, "'watch how other persons use

their forks.' Can you beat it? And say, honest, Molly bought that for me

to read and study. And I never piped the subtitle until this morning.

'Advice to young ladies upon going into society.' Huh?" Harrigan slapped

his knee with the book and roared out his keen enjoyment. Somehow he

seemed to be more at ease with this young fellow than with any other man

he had met in years. "But for the love of Mike, don't say anything to

Molly," fearfully. "Oh, she means the best in the world," contritely. "I'm

always embarrassing her; shoe-strings that don't match, a busted stud in

my shirt-front, and there isn't a pair of white-kids made that'll stay

whole more than five minutes on these paws. I suppose it's because I don't

think. After all, I'm only a retired pug." The old fellow's eyes sparkled

suspiciously. "The best two women in all the world, and I don't want them

to be ashamed of me."

"Why, Mr. Harrigan," said Courtlandt, letting his chair fall into place so

that he could lay a hand affectionately upon the other's knee, "neither of

them would be worth their salt if they ever felt ashamed of you. What do

you care what strangers think or say? You know. You've seen life. You've

stepped off the stage and carried with you the recollection of decent

living, of playing square, of doing the best you could. The worst

scoundrels I ever met never made any mistake with their forks. Perhaps you

don't know it, but my father became rich because he could judge a man's

worth almost at sight. And he kept this fortune and added to it because he

chose half a dozen friends and refused to enlarge the list. If you became

his friend, he had good reason for making you such."




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