could not sit in a row, for the easy chairs and sofas, though plentiful,
had the air of having been just vacated by people who had left them
carelessly just where they had chanced to sit.

It required diplomacy to seat those boys. When at last Stephen Crowley
dropped into one of the great pillowy chairs, he instantly sprang up
again, and looked at it doubtfully.

Was the thing a trap? How far down would it sink with him? This was too
much for Nimble Dick, even under the present overpowering
circumstances--he laughed. His hostess blessed him for that laugh. The
horrible stiffness was somewhat broken, and all were seated.

Just at that moment came Alfred Ried, hurriedly, like one who had
intended promptness and missed it.

"All here ahead of me!" he exclaimed, "Mrs. Roberts, I beg your pardon.
At the last moment I went in search of Dr. Everett; there was serious
illness in a house next door, and I happened to know just where he was."

During this address he was shaking hands with his hostess, his manner
easy and graceful, as one used to it all. Then he crossed the room, that
wonderful room, treading down those flowers on the carpet as though he
had no fears of breaking their stems.

"Good evening, Miss Dennis," he said, and he was bowing in a manner that
Dirk Colson was confident he could imitate. Then he turned to the boys,
shaking hands:--

"How are you, Haskell? By the way, Crowley, I called on you to-day at