The Coming of Bill

om the garage and seated herself at the wheel. Itwas her habit to refresh her mind and

f this is the case, I ampained, but not surprised. It happens only too often that the uplifterof the public mind is

stead of standingstill to be uplifted, wanders off t

Lora Delane Porter's bo

that. She blamed nearly all the defects of themodern world, from weak intellects to in-growing toe-nails, onlong-dead ladies and gentlemen who, safe in the family vault, imaginedthat they had established their alibi. She sub

published works dealtwith this subject. A careful perusal of them would have enabled therising generation to select its ideal wife or husband with perfectease, and, in the event of Heaven

as she sometimes told herself in her rare moods ofdiscouragement, was her niece, Ruth Bannister, daughter of JohnBannister, the millionaire. It was not so long ago, she reflected withpride, that she had induced Ruth to refuse to

ving oneself a teapot, butit argues a certain

er influence with Ruth

t first showed her how g

was noted and resented byothers, in particular Ruth's brother Bailey, who regarded his aunt witha dislike and su

, a sort ofperambulating yellow peril, and the fact that she o

of hers, preferring to zigzagabout New York, livening up the great city at random. She always droveherself and, havin

some atavistic tendency. One of her ancestors may have been aRoman charioteer or a coach-racing maniac of the Regency days. At anyrate, after a hard morning's work on her new book she felt that hermind needed cooling, and found that the rush of air against her faceeffected this satisf

icut. And George, pawn offate, was even now

ime, but not long enough to accustom his ratherunreceptive mind to the fact that, whereas in his native land vehicleskept to the left, in the country of his ado

regard to such a man i

that it should be

conscious of a glow of benevolence toward herspecies, not excluding even the young couple she had almost reduced tomincemeat in the neighbourhood of Ninety-Se

ry wagon. She followed it slowly for a while; then, growing tiredof being merel

n--had just stepped off the kerb. Hereceived the automobile in the small of the back, uttered

her to fervid speech,George Pennicut contented hi

ewing-gum in theirexcitement. One, a devout believer in the inscrutable ways ofProvidence, told a friend as he ra

utcheon. She was incensed with this idiot who had flung himselfbefore her car, not reflecting in her heat that he probably had apre-natal

nd passed experienced ha

nt at first aid as at anythingelse. The ci

attempted suicide."This aspect of the affair had not struck Mr. Pennicut. Presented to himin these simple words, it checked the recriminatory speech which, hismind having recov

re citize

ported Mrs. Porter, con

one knee isslightly wrenched. Nothing to signify. More frigh

90?""Yes, ma'am." George's voi

eman comes along and wants to know whyyou're lying there, mind you tell him the truth, that you ran into me.""Yes, ma'am.""Very well. Don't forget.

e. Somebody came at aleisurely pace down the

ce of the opposite sex. She had well-definedviews upon man. Yet, in the interval which elapsed b

, handsome. He had a rather boyish face, pleasanteyes set wide apart, and a friendly mouth

magnificent fitness, that for the moment overcame Mrs. Porter. Phys

seemed to him to be looking as if she had caught him inthe act of endeavouring

xpectation of seeing aginger-haired, bow-legged, grinning George Pennicut, is confronted by amasterful woman with e

e. It was ever her way to come

e Pennicut.""I have no doubt that that is his name. I did not inquire. It did notinterest me. My name is Mrs. Lora Delane Porter. This man of yours hasjust run into my automobile.""I beg your pardon?""I cannot put it more lucidly. I was driving along the street when thiswea

ound Mrs. Porter a

on, was causing a granite-facedpoliceman to think that the age of miracles had returned by informin

leg, sir," he a

ve you explained to the policemanthat it was entirely your fault?""Yes, ma'am.""That's right. Always s

nt over the victim, gripped h

observed one int

ind," said Mrs. Porter severely. "The man is hardlyhurt at all. Be mo

m," he mumbl

hich makes the New Yorkconstabulary what it i

!" he

her gaze upon him,

did this happen?""You have already been informed. The man ran into my a

policeman's voice was

lings by dispersing the crowd with well-directed prods of his locuststick. A small boy who lingered, squeezing the automobile's hooter, in

effort. He is a stout man, too. Grosslyout of condition, like ninety-nine per cent of men to-day.""I'm not so young as I was, ma'am," protested George. "When I was inthe harm

little brandy wouldn't hurt him, after the shock hehas had.""On no account. The worst thing possible.""This isn't your lucky day, George," said Kirk. "Well, I guess I'llphone to the doctor.""Quite unnecessary.""I beg your pardon?""Entirely unnecessary. I have made an examination. There is practicallynothing the

please," s

George. Icouldn't afford to lose him. There aren't any more l

fection of his physique. She appraised his voice as he spoke tothe doctor. It

, the more she approved ofit. She decided to put a few questions to him. She had a habit ofquestioning people, and

was li

ld like to ask you a few quest

se do,"

er scanned

insured.""Very sensible. There has been no serious illness in your family atall, then, as far as you know?""I could hunt up the records, if you like; but I don't think so.""Consumption? No? Cancer? No? As far as you are aware, nothing? Verysatisfactory.""I'm glad you're pleased.""Are you married?""Good Lord, no!""At your age you should be. With your magnificent physique andremarkable record of health, it is your duty to the future of the raceto marry.""I'm not sure I've been worrying much about the future of the race.""No man does. It is the crying evil of the day, men's selfishabsorption in the present, their utter lack of a sense of duty withregard to the fu

sir," he whispered

ssness somewhere."The bedrooms attached to the studio opened off the gallery that ran thelength of the east wall. Looking over the edge of the gallery beforecoming downstairs Kirk per

abit with his pictures to start out in a vague spirit ofadventure and receive their la

o resent the factthat Mrs. Porter was standing a great

back a little," he su

orter lo

re you are

I am," agreed

woman was as competent atart criticism as at automobile driving and first aid. "Where did youstudy?""In Paris, if you could call it studying. I'm afraid I was not th

ake the darned thing away, so I guessyou're right.""Do you depend for a living on the sale of your pictures?""Thank Heaven, no. I'm the only artist in captivity with a privateincome.""A large income?""'Tis not so deep as

by thearrival of the doctor, a cheerful little old man with the

e. _I_ work.""There is no trouble," said Mrs. Porter. The doctor spun ro

. There ispractically nothing wrong with him. I have made a

e in other ha

arkable sight he is. He iswearing red hair with purple pyjamas. Why go abroad when you have notyet seen the wonders of your native land?"* * * * *That night Lora Delane Porter wrote

s what s

on of the brake cannot be goodfor the tyres. Out of evil, however, came good, for I have made theacquaintance of his employer, a Mr. Winfield, an artist. Mr. Winfieldis a man of remarkable physique. I questioned him narrowly, and