“I came in for a moment to see Mary,” he explained as he took his older brother’s hand.  “How is she this morning?”

“Have your car follow, and drive down-town with me.  I want a word with you and I’m more than an hour late now.  You can see Mary afterward.”  Ham’s suggestions were always couched in mandatory terms, and Paul with a nod gave the necessary instructions to his own driver.  When he was seated his elder brother inquired with a keen glance of appraisal, “What’s the matter with you, Paul?  You look tired.”

“I am a bit fagged.”  The answer was almost plaintive.  “After I went to bed last night, or this morning, the scheme of an aria began running through my head and I couldn’t sleep.  I had to get up and work it out on the piano.  Listen—­it goes like this.”  Forgetful of time and place, the musician began whistling the opening bars of his latest composition.

Hamilton Burton gazed at the dreamy and fatigued eyes of the other for a moment before he broke out bluntly:  “For heaven’s sake, spare me!  At least save it for some more suitable time.  Can’t you fix it to do some of your dreaming while you sleep?  It seems to me that for a man who has nothing to do you keep yourself unnecessarily exhausted.  Why the devil aren’t you in bed now if you haven’t slept during the night?”

“I had an appointment for breakfast at twelve.”

“With some woman, I suppose:  some woman who wants to break it to you gently that when she hears your music a realization steals over her that she has a soul; that, listening to you, she knows that life holds higher and nobler things.  That sort of appointment, eh?”

The younger man flushed deeply.  “In point of fact, it is with a lady,” he admitted.

Hamilton Burton frowned.  The car was turning into the avenue and the traffic officer saluted in recognition of the familiar figure, while the financier with a smile waved one gloved hand.  Then the smile disappeared and the frown returned.

“You say you are tired, Paul, and sometimes—­I might as well confess—­you make me tired.  Your trouble is that you are stifled with boudoir perfume and suffocated by over-petting.  Why don’t you try breathing outdoors sometime?  You might like it if you ever made the experiment.”

Paul only shook his head.  He could never argue with Hamilton and yet on one or two subjects he was gently and immovably stubborn.  So the older brother shrugged his shoulders and changed the subject.

“What progress with the new organ?” he inquired.

The responsive face lighted and weariness gave place to the glow of enthusiasm.  Hamilton was installing at the younger man’s quarters a splendid music-room with such an organ as might have graced a cathedral.  There the ardent composer might shut himself off with the swelling strains of his own music and fare out on the far tide of his dreams.