where, it seemed, that young man had been a remarkable right tackle. He
gave rather a vivid account of a game he had witnessed last year,
talking, as Richard recognized, less because he was eager to talk than
from a sense of responsibility as to the entertainment of his guest.

"But he won't play any more," he added mournfully. "He took his degree
last year and he's in father's office now, learning everything from the
beginning. He's just a common clerk, but he won't be long," he asserted
confidently.

"No, not long," agreed Richard. "The son of the chief won't be a common
clerk long, of course."

"I mean," explained Ted, buttering a hot roll with hurried fingers,
"he'll work his way up. He won't be promoted until he earns it; he
doesn't want to be."

Richard smiled. The boy's ideals had evidently been given a start by
some person or persons of high moral character. He was considering the
subject in some further detail with the lad when the dining-room door
suddenly opened and the owner of the black-lashed blue eyes, which in a
way matched Ted's, came most unexpectedly in upon them. She was in
street dress of dark blue, and her eyes looked out at them from under
the wide gray brim of a sombrero-shaped hat with a long quill in it, the
whole effect of which was to give her the breezy look of having
literally blown in on the November wind which was shaking the trees
outside. Her cheeks had been stung into a brilliant rose colour. Two
books were tucked under her arm.

"Why, Rob!" cried her younger brother. "What luck! What brought you