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know it, either. He'll see that you get a week off at least, any time you want it."

"I'm in no hurry," said Jock.

Johnny regarded him solemnly over the rim of his mug (supplied by the management to heighten the illusion). "Listen to me, boy," he ordered, setting the mug down with a thump. "My well-earned rest starts a week from Saturday. Peg and I are going to spend it down near New London, where dad has a summer place which he's agreed to turn over to us, and we're going to take a bunch along for a houseparty. And you're coming too, d'you hear?"

"I hear," Jock smiled.

"Meaning, 'but won't obey', huh? Listen, Jock——"

"I know what you're going to say. It'll be a peach of a go, of course, but—thanks just the same. Ask me again sometime, Johnny. Sometime when I'm—more in the mood."

"If ever!" Johnny said despairingly. "Look here, Jock, there's no damn sense in your acting like this. It's all nonsense. Nearly five months since the thing happened—isn't it about time you staged a return to normalcy?"

There was no answer, and for some moments the pair munched and gulped in silence. Then Johnny said, "Well, if you change your mind, the latch-string's out, remember."

"Thanks. But not this time, I guess."

"Cecily's going to be there——"

"Is she?" Jock queried politely.

. . . As Johnny remarked later to Peg, "What can you do with a guy like that?" . . .