and puddle your papers a bit in your own cozy corner we can call these
quarters ready to receive the ladies, God bless 'em! Does it look kinder
bare to you? We might borrow a few drapes from the madam, or would you
trust to the flowers? I'll send them up for you to fix around tasty.
A blasted poet ought to know how to bunch spinach to look well."

As he spoke David Kildare stood in the middle of the living-room in his
bachelor quarters, which were in the Colonial, a tall pillared, wide
windowed, white brick apartment-house that stood across the street from
the home of Major Buchanan, and surveyed the long rooms upon which he and
his man Eph had been expending their energies for more than an hour.

Andrew Sevier sank down upon the arm of a chair and lighted a long and
villainous pipe. "Trust to the flowers," he answered. "I think Phoebe
doesn't care for the drapes of this life so much as some women do and as
this is for her birthday let's have the flowers, sturdy ones with stiff
stems and good head pieces."

"That's right, Phoebe's nobody's clinging vine," answered David moodily.
"She doesn't want any trellis either--wish something would wilt her! Look
here, Andrew, on the square, what's the matter that I can't get Phoebe?
You're a regular love pilot on paper, point me another course; this one
is no good; I've run into a sand bank." The dark red forelock on David's
brow was ruffled and his keen eyes were troubled, while his large sweet
mouth was set in a straight firm line. He looked very strong, forceful
and determined as he stopped in front of his friend and squared himself
as if for a blow.

Andrew Sevier looked at him thoughtfully for a few seconds straight
between the eyes, then his mouth widened into an affectionate smile as he