David grunted, but he turned to Lucy Crosby, in the rear seat:

"Lucy, d'you know where my clubs are?"

"You loaned them to Jim Wheeler last fall. If you get three of
them back you're lucky." Mrs. Crosby's voice was faintly tart.
Long ago she had learned that her brother's belongings were his
only by right of purchase, and were by way of being community
property. When, early in her widowhood and her return to his home,
she had found that her protests resulted only in a sort of
clandestine giving or lending, she had exacted a promise from him.
"I ask only one thing, David," she had said. "Tell me where the
things go. There wasn't a blanket for the guest-room bed at the
time of the Diocesan Convention."

"I'll run around to the Wheelers' and get them," Dick observed, in
a carefully casual voice. "I'll see the Carter baby, too, David,
and that clears the afternoon. Any message?"

Lucy glanced at him, but David moved toward the house.

"Give Elizabeth a kiss for me," he called over his shoulder, and
went chuckling up the path.




II

Mrs. Crosby stood on the pavement, gazing after the car as it moved