And then he had opened his eyes, hours later, and there had been Tony—­and there had been chiefly Tony ever since, for him.

If ever he amounted to anything, and he meant to amount to something, it would be all due to Tony and her Uncle Phil.  The two of them had saved him in more ways than one, had faith in him when he wasn’t much but a scarecrow, ignorant, profane, unmoral, miserable, a “gutter brat” as some one had once called him, a phrase he had never forgotten.  It had seemed to brand him, set him apart from people like the Holidays forever.  But Tony and Doctor Phil had shown him a different way of looking at it, proved to him that nothing could really disgrace him but himself.  They had given him his chance and he had taken it.  Please God he would make himself yet into something they could be proud of, and it would all be their doing.  He would never forget that, whatever happened.

A half hour later the train puffed and wheezed into the station at Northampton.  Dick Carson and Max Hempel, still close together, descended into the swarming, chattering crowd which was delightfully if confusingly congested with pretty girls, more pretty girls and still more pretty girls.  But Dick was not confused.  Even before the train had come to a full stop he had caught sight of Tony.  He had a single track mind so far as girls were concerned.  From the moment his eyes discovered Tony Holiday the rest simply did not exist for him.  It is to be doubted whether he knew they were there at all, in spite of their manifest ubiquity and equally manifest pulchritude.

Tony saw him, too, as he loomed up, taller than the others, bearing resistlessly down upon her.  She waved a gay greeting and smiled her welcome to him through the throng.  Max Hempel, close behind, caught the message, too, and recognized the face of the girl who smiled as the original of the newspaper cut he had just been studying so assiduously.  Deliberately he dogged the young man’s heels.  He wanted to get a close-up view of Laura LaRue’s daughter.  She was much prettier than the picture.  Even from a distance he had made that out, as she stood there among the crowd, vivacious, vivid, clad all in white except for the loose coral-hued sweater which set off her warm brunette beauty and the slim but charmingly rounded curves of her supple young body.  Yes, she was like Laura, like her and yet different, with a quality which he fancied belonged to herself and none other.

Almost jealously Hempel watched the meeting between the girl and the youth who up to now had been negligible enough, but suddenly emerged into significance as the possible young galoot already mentally warned off the premises by the stage manager.

“Dick!  O Dick!  I’m so glad to see you,” cried the girl, holding out both hands to the new arrival.  Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes shining.  She looked quite as glad as she proclaimed.

As for the young man who had set down his suitcase and taken possession of both the proffered hands, there wasn’t the slightest doubt that he was in the seventh heaven of bliss wherever that may be.  Next door to Fool’s Paradise, Max Hempel hoped somewhat vindictively.