But Neil refused, and plumping himself into a wicker rocking-chair that
creaked complainingly, rubbed the dust from his hands to his trousers
and looked about the study approvingly.

"We're going to be jolly comfy here, Paul," he said. "Mrs. Curtis is
going to get a new globe for that fixture over there."

[Illustration]

"Then we will be," said Paul. "And if she would only find us a
towel-rack that didn't fall into twelve separate pieces like a Chinese
puzzle every time a chap put a towel on it we'd be simply reveling
in luxury."

"I think I can fix that thing with string," answered Neil. "Or we might
buy one of those nickel-plated affairs that you screw into the wall."

"The sort that always dump the towels on to the floor, you mean? Yes, we
might. Of course, they're of no practical value judged as towel-racks,
but they're terribly ornamental. You know we had one in the bath-room at
the beach. Remember? When you got through your bath and groped round for
the towel it was always lying on the floor just out of reach."

"Yes, I remember," answered Neil, smiling. "We had rather a good time,
didn't we, at Seabright? It was awfully nice of you to ask me down
there, Paul; and your folks were mighty good to me. Next summer I want
you to come up to New Hampshire and see us for a while. Of course, we
can't give you sea bathing, and you won't look like a red Indian when
you go home, but we could have a good time just the same."