some obscure place this first evening. But this was not Lin's plan. Frank
must dine with him, at the Parker House. Frank demurred, saying it was he
that should be host.

"And," he added, "they charge up high for wines at Parker's." Then for
the twentieth time he shifted a sidelong eye over his brother's clothes.

"You're goin' to take your grub with me," said Lin. "That's all right,
I guess. And there ain't any 'no' about it. Things is not the same like
as if father was livin'--(his voice softened)--and here to see me come
home. Now I'm good for several dinners with wines charged up high, I
expect, nor it ain't nobody in this world, barrin' just Lin McLean, that
I've any need to ask for anything. 'Mr. McLean,' says I to Lin, 'can yu'
spare me some cash?' 'Why, to be sure, you bet!' And we'll start off with
steamed Duxbury clams." The cow-puncher slapped his pocket, where the
coin made a muffled chinking. Then he said, gruffly, "I suppose
Swampscott's there yet?"

"Yes," said Frank. "It's a dead little town, is Swampscott."

"I guess I'll take a look at the old house tomorrow," Lin pursued.

"Oh, that's been pulled down since-- I forget the year they improved that
block."

Lin regarded in silence his brother, who was speaking so jauntily of the
first and last home they had ever had.

"Seventy-nine is when it was," continued Frank. "So you can save the
trouble of travelling away down to Swampscott."