shriller note of the chorus-girl calling to her mate--these things got
Henry. He was thirty-six next birthday, but he felt a youngish
twenty-one.

A voice spoke at his side. Henry looked up, to perceive Sidney Mercer.

The passage of a year, which had turned Henry into a married man, had
turned Sidney Mercer into something so magnificent that the spectacle
for a moment deprived Henry of speech. Faultless evening dress clung
with loving closeness to Sidney's lissom form. Gleaming shoes of
perfect patent leather covered his feet. His light hair was brushed
back into a smooth sleekness on which the electric lights shone like
stars on some beautiful pool. His practically chinless face beamed
amiably over a spotless collar.

Henry wore blue serge.

'What are you doing here, Henry, old top?' said the vision. 'I didn't
know you ever came among the bright lights.'

His eyes wandered off to Minnie. There was admiration in them, for
Minnie was looking her prettiest.

'Wife,' said Henry, recovering speech. And to Minnie: 'Mr Mercer. Old
friend.'

'So you're married? Wish you luck. How's the bank?'

Henry said the bank was doing as well as could be expected.