"Next week," said Jay.
"They won't wait till next week," prophesied Mr. Lowry. "Tryston's gone tame for them. I bet they're packing this minute. You and that wife of yours, Jay, gave them the thrill of their lives. I was in Phil's office yesterday. Apparently he bought out this week's edition of the local Tryston paper. His secretary had a hundred copies, at least, which she was mailing out to friends; the one with the picture of you all lunching in the solarium together, with names of everybody below it. You were good, boy, but your wife was wonderful! You'll find your friends again, I figure, not later than day after to-morrow."
"Not here," protested Jay.
"Why not? Are you leaving?"
"No; I've come home for a job."
"Your job, in the next few days, is to be nice to the Metten family—you and your wife."
"But good Lord," said Jay, "we won't be with the Mettens here. That's over. That was just at Tryston, because he came down there. He sent up his card to me. That's over."
Lowry laughed. "Over, boy? You've just begun; you're just tuning up. You don't imagine you've satisfied Phil Metten by sitting with him for his picture at Tryston with your wife and his family? You've just whetted his appetite." Lowry looked about the room, seeing that the door was closed and nobody else but Ellen Powell present. "Do you know what the Metten business amounts to?"
Jay smiled, in spite of himself. "If I don't, repetition makes no impression on my ears. Four hundred and forty-
