George.  Who’s at the bottom of this, Timothy?  Rench?  Hillman?  I thought so.  Well, they’re not bad chaps when you get under their skins.

   (He glances at his wrist watch)

Let me go down and talk with them, dad,—­I’ve got time, my train doesn’t leave until one thirty.

Asher (impatiently, almost savagely).  No, I’ll settle this, George, this is my job.  I won’t have any humoring.  Come into my study, Timothy.

   Timothy, shaking his head, follows Asher out of the door, left.

After a moment George goes over to the extreme left hand corner of the room, where several articles are piled.  He drags out a kit bag, then some necessary wearing apparel, underclothes, socks, a sweater, etc., then a large and rather luxurious lunch kit, a pin cushion. with his monogram, a small travelling pillow with his monogram, a linen toilet case embroidered in blue, to hang on the wall—­these last evidently presents from admiring lady friends.  Finally he brings forth a large rubber life preserving suit.  He makes a show of putting all these things in the bag, including the life- preserving suit; and reveals a certain sentiment, not too deep, for the pillow, the pincushion and the toilet case.  At length he strews everything over the floor, and is surveying the litter with mock despair when a girl appears on the lawn outside, through one of the windows.  She throws into the room a small parcel wrapped in tissue paper, and disappears.  George picks up the parcel and looks surprised, and suddenly runs out of the door, upper right.  He presently returns, dragging the girl by the wrists, she resisting.

Minnie Farrell is about twenty one, with black hair and an abundant vitality.  Her costume is a not wholly ineffective imitation of those bought at a great price at certain metropolitan establishments.  A string of imitation pearls gleams against her ruddy skin.

Minnie.  Cut it out, George! (Glancing around apprehensively.) Say, if your mother was to find me here she’d want to send me up to the reformatory (she frees herself).

George.  Where the deuce did you blow in from? (Regarding her with admiration.) Is this the little Minnie Farrell who left Foxon Falls two years ago?  Gee whiz! aren’t we smart!

Minnie.  Do you like me?  I’m making good money, since the war.

George.  Do I like you?  What are you doing here?

Minnie.  My brother Bert’s out there—­he ain’t working today.  Mr. Pindar sent for father, and we walked up here with him.  Where is he?

George (nodding toward the study).  In there.  But what are you doing, back in Foxon Falls?

Minnie.  Oh, visiting the scenes of my childhood.

George (tearing open the tissue paper from the parcel).  Did you make
these for me? 
   (He holds up a pair of grey woollen wristlets.)