8
FLAMING
YOUTH
of triumphant and imperishable youth.
Not one of her
features but was faulty by strict artistic tenets; even the lustrous eyes were set at slightly different levels. Yet the total effect was that of loveliness; yes, more, of compelling charm. One would have guessed her to be still short of thirty. “This is final, is it?” she asked evenly of a man who was standing near the door. “Tt’s final enough,” he answered. He shambled across the reom to her side, moving like a bear. Like a bear’s his exterior was rough, shaggy, and seemed not to fit him well. His face was irregularly square, homely, thoughtful, snd humorous. “Want to ery?” he asked. “No. I want to swear.” “Go ahead.” Downstairs a door opened and closed. There followed the rhythmic crepitation of ice against metal. “There’s Ralph home,” interpreted the wife. “Call down and tell him to shake up one for me.” “Better not.” “Oh, you be damned!” she retorted, twinkling at him. “You've finished your day’s job as a physician. I need
one.” As he obediently went out she mused, with the instinct of the competent housekeeper: “Gin’s gone to twenty-five dollars a gallon. That*ll rasp poor old Ralph. I wonder how much this will jar him.” By “this” she meant the news which she had just forced from the reluctant lips of Dr. Robert Osterhout. She pursued her line of thought. “Who'll take over the
house?
The
girls know
Perhaps he'll marry again.
nothing
about
running
it.
He’s very young for fifty.”
The two men entered, Fentriss carrying the shaker.
