information that the flowers were for the daughter of the president of
the Northeastern Railroads caused a visible quickening of the little
florist's regard, an attitude which aroused a corresponding disgust and
depression in Austen.

"Oh, yes," said the florist, "she's up at Crewe's." He glanced at Austen
apologetically. "Excuse me," he said, "I ought to know you. Have you a
card?"

"No," said Austen, with emphasis.

"And what name, please?"

"No name," said the donor, now heartily repenting of his rashness, and
slamming the glass door in a manner that made the panes rattle behind
him.

As he stood hesitating on the curb of the crossing, he began to wish that
he had not left Ripton.

"Hello, Austen," said a voice, which he recognized as the Honourable
Brush Bascom's, "didn't know you ever came down here in session time."

"What are you doing down here, Brush?" Austen asked.

Mr. Bascom grinned in appreciation of this pleasantry.

"I came for my health," he said; "I prefer it to Florida."

"I've heard that it agrees with some people," said Austen.