impulsive generosity.

"Something not quite right, though," he thought. "The boy isn't all
happy. Wonder what the trouble is. Probably a girl. Usually is at
that age."

At the wheel beside the doctor was his namesake and neighbor, Philip
Lambert. Phil was graduating, himself, this year from the college across
the river, a sturdy athlete of some note and a Phi Beta Kappa man as
well. Out of a harum-scarum, willful boyhood he had emerged into a finely
tempered, steady young manhood. The Dunbury wiseacres who had been wont
to shake their heads over Phil's youthful escapades and prophesy a bad
end for such a devil-may-care youngster now patted themselves
complacently on the back, as wiseacres will, and declared they had always
known the boy would turn out a credit to his family and the town.

On the back seat were Phil's sisters, the pretty twins, Charley and
Clare, still astonishingly alike at twenty, as they had been at twelve,
and still full of the high spirits and ready laughter and wit that had
made them the life of the Hill in the old days. Neither looked a day over
sixteen, but Clare had already been teaching two years in a Dunbury
public school and Charley was to go into nurse's training in the fall.

Larry, the young doctor, as Dunbury had taken to calling him in
distinction from his uncle, was not yet arrived, as Tony had explained;
but Ted, her younger brother, was very much on the scene, arrayed in all
the extravagant niceties of modish attire affected by university
undergraduates. At twenty, Ted Holiday was as handsome as the traditional
young Greek god and possessed of a godlike propensity to do as he liked
and the devil take the consequences. Already Ned Holiday's younger son