Page:The fighting scrub, (IA fightingscrub00barb).pdf/142

 just said: "Gee, a fellow's got to be polite, Tom! I borrowed his paper, didn't I? Oh, come on with me, won't you?"

Tom shook his head stubbornly. "Nothing doing. Stay as long as you like. I'll take a little walk. See you later, maybe."

"I'd do as much for you."

"You won't have to. I'm not trying to break into the millionaire class."

"Oh, thunder! You make me tired! Where'll I find you in half an hour?"

"I'll be around," answered Tom vaguely. "Maybe in the village. Or over at the golf course."

"Or up in the attic or down cellar," added Clif sarcastically. "All right. See you at supper, anyway."

He knew very well that Tom was slightly jealous, but it couldn't be helped, and he went across to East with the paper. Glancing back as he went up the steps, he saw Tom meandering carelessly down the driveway, hands in pockets, and head high. Clif grinned as he went on along the corridor. "Silly old ass, "he murmured affectionately.

Save that the ceiling was considerably higher than in the upstairs rooms, Loring Deane's quarters were not different from Clif's at first glance. There were two beds, two chiffoniers, and the usual number and variety of chairs. What was missing, however, were the window-seats, for here the two big windows went almost to the floor. Then, too, there was a wash stand,