"They left Harvard the year I entered. They HAD to leave.
They were quite mad. All the Careys have been mad. The boys
were queer even then, and awfully rich. Henry ran away with a
girl from a shoe factory in Brockton and lives in Paris, and
Philip was sent here."

"Sent here?" repeated the girl. Unconsciously her voice also
had sunk to a whisper.

"He has a doctor and a nurse and keepers, and they live here
all the year round. When Fred said there were people
hereabouts, I thought we might strike them for something to
eat, or even to put us up for the night, but, Philip Carey! I
shouldn't fancy----"

"I should think not!" exclaimed the girl.

For, a minute the three stood silent, peering through the iron
bars.

"And the worst of it is," went on the young man irritably, "he
could give us such good things to eat."

"It doesn't look it," said the girl.

"I know," continued the man in the same eager whisper.
"But--who was it was telling me? Some doctor I know who came
down to see him. He said Carey does himself awfully well, has
the house full of bully pictures, and the family plate, and
wonderful collections--things he picked up in the East--gold