“Granny’ll put a badge on you,” promised the flapper.  “We have to take advantage of every little means.”

He was still puzzling over this when they turned through a gateway, imposing with its tangle of wrought iron and gilt, and at a decorously reduced speed crinkled up a wide drive to the vast pile of gray stone that housed the un-filial Breede.

[Illustration:  “Daughter!” said Breede, with half a glance at the flapper]

A taller and, Bean thought, a prettier girl than the flapper stepped aside for them, looking at Bean as they passed.  One could read her look as one could not read the flapper’s.  It was outrageously languishing.

“Flirts with every one, makes no difference who!” explained the flapper with a venomous sniff.

Bean laughed uneasily.

“She’s my own dear sister, and I love her, but she’s a perfect cat!”

Bean made deprecating sounds with his lips.

“I suppose people have been wondering where I was,” confessed the flapper as they descended upon the granite steps.  “I forgot to tell them I was going.  Better hurry to Pops or he’ll be murdering some one.”

A man took his bag and preceded him into the big hall.

“Engaged, too!” called the flapper bitterly.

He found Breede imprisoned in a large, light room that looked to the west.  Below the windows a green hill fell sheerly away to the bank of a lordly river, and beyond rose other hills that shimmered in the haze.  A light breeze fluttered the gayly striped awnings.  Breede, at a desk, turned his back upon the fair scene and fumed.

“Take letter G.M.  Watkins, Pres’den I ‘n’ N.C.  Rai’way,” began Breede as Bean entered the room.  “Dear sir repline yours of 23d instan’ would say Ouch! damn that foot don’t take that regardin’ traffic ’greement now’n ’fect that ’casion may rise ’n near future to ’mend same in ‘cordance with stip’lations inform’ly made at conf’rence held las’ Janwary will not’fy you ’n due time ’f change is made yours very truly have some lunch brought here ‘n a minute may haf’ t’ stay three four days t’ll this Whoo! damn foot gets well take letter H.J.  Hobbs secon’ ‘sistant vice Pres’den’ D. ‘n’ L.S.  Rai’way New York, New York, dear Hobbs mark it pers’nal repline yours even date stock purchases goin’ forward as rapidly’s thought wise under circumstances it is held mos’ly ‘n small lots an’ too active a market might give rise t’ silly notions about it—­”

The day’s work was on, familiar enough, with the exception of Breede’s interjections; he spoke words many times that were not to be “taken down.”  And yet Bean forebore to record his wonted criticisms of his employer’s dress.  There was ground for them.  Breede had never looked less the advanced dresser.  But Bean’s mind was busy with that older sister, she of the marvellously drooping eyes.  He had recognized her at once as the ideal person with whom to be wrecked on a desert