Jack Kimball sat in his study, with his hands laced in his thick,
dark hair. He was thinking - Jack claimed the happy faculty of
being able to think of one thing at a time, and to do that
thoroughly.

Suddenly he jumped up, and, whistling a tune that only a happy
youth knows how to originate, he dashed up the polished stairs,
three steps at a time, and finally reached the third floor of his
home.

He was met in the hall by a matronly woman with a tray in her
hands, and at his approach she stepped back to allow him to enter
a room, the door of which was swung open.

"Morning, Miss Brown," he said. "How's the baby?"

"Doing splendidly, thank you," replied the woman, "and she is very
anxious to see you. Won't you step in?"

"Sure thing," answered Jack. "That's just what I came up for. I
want to chat with her myself."

He stepped lightly into the apartment. It was plainly furnished,
with a keen appreciation of what was needed in a sick room, and
what should be left out of it. Jack sank into a steamer chair
beside the white bed.

"How are things, Wren?" he asked, stroking the delicate hand that