care, so long as I can stand in them. You’d better go telephone the depot and ask if the train’s on time.”
“They won’t know yet. It’s seven hours till it’s due.”
“Then telephone later. But find out, somehow. I don’t want to stand around that station, waiting for the train.”
Ralph whistled. Clearly, his young man was going to be hard to manage. He proposed a bath as a soothing measure. No, Claude had had his bath. Had he, then, packed his suitcase?
“How the devil can I pack it when I don’t know what I’m going to put on?”
“You’ll put on one shirt and one pair of socks. I’m going to get some of this stuff out of the way for you.” Ralph caught up a handful of socks and fell to sorting them. Several had bright red spots on the toe. He began to laugh.
“I know why your shoe hurts, you’ve cut your foot!”
Claude sprang up as if a hornet had stung him. “Will you get out of here,” he shouted, “and let me alone?”
Ralph vanished. He told his mother he would dress at once, as they might have to use force with Claude at the last moment.
The wedding ceremony was to be at eight, supper was to follow, and Claude and Enid were to leave Frankfort at 10: 25, on the Denver express. At six o’clock, when Ralph knocked at his brother’s door, he found him shaved and brushed, and dressed, except for his coat. His tucked shirt was not rumpled, and his tie was properly knotted. Whatever pain they concealed, his patent leather shoes were smooth and glistening and resolutely pointed.
“Are you packed?” Ralph asked in astonishment.
“Nearly. I wish you’d go over things and make them look
