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 "That sounded like the things you used to say when we played in the garret. You'd a heap sooner do this than that—don't you remember?"

"That's just why I'd rather live here, Peggy. Last night I fell to thinking of that old garret, and hanged if something didn't come up and stick in my throat so tight that I wanted to cry. How long has it been since we played up there? Yes, and how long has it been since I read 'Oliver Optic' to you, lying there in the garret window while you sat with your back against the wall, your blue eyes as big as dollars?"

"Oh, dear me, Monty, it was ages ago—twelve or thirteen years at least," she cried, a soft light in her eyes.

"I'm going up there this afternoon to see what the place is like," he said eagerly. "And, Peggy, you must come too. Maybe I can find one of those Optic books, and we'll be young again."

"Just for old time's sake," she said impulsively. "You'll stay for luncheon, too."

"I'll have to be at the—no, I won't, either. Do you know, I was thinking I had to be at the bank at twelve-thirty to let Mr. Perkins go out for something to eat? The millionaire habit