“Let’s stop for the band concert,” suggested Virginia.
Obadiah, much relieved physically and mentally from recent disquietude, was unusually complaisant. “Drive in, Ike,” he directed.
They turned into a broad, paved road which followed the sides of a square about which were located the principal buildings of the institution. It bounded a tree shaded park with a band-stand in the center. Walks radiating to the sides and corners of the square were lined with benches occupied by veterans in campaign hats and blue uniforms, smoking, chatting, and enjoying the music.
The inner edge of the roadway was lined with automobiles full of visitors. Ike stopped upon the opposite side, in front of the quarters of the Commanding Officer.
Hardly had they paused when a tall, fine looking man of a distinctly military bearing, despite his white hair, hurried out to meet them.
“Mr. Dale,” he greeted the manufacturer in a big booming voice, “I am glad to welcome you to the Home.”
Obadiah genially returned the salutation of Colonel Ryan. That officer, being a man of rank, in charge of the Soldiers’ Home, with power of recommendation in government purchases, was one whose acquaintance it was wise for even wealthy mill owners to cultivate.
When presented to Virginia, the Colonel bowed deeply. “I want you to come up to the house and meet Mrs. Ryan,” he urged. “You can hear the music more comfortably there. I am proud of my band. They are old fellows like you and me, Dale, but give them a horn and they have lots of musical ‘pep’ left.”
Mrs. Ryan met them at the head of the porch steps. “You have often heard me speak of Mr. Dale,” the Colonel, discreetly noncommittal as to his manner of speaking, reminded her.
“Oh, yes, and I have heard of you, too.” She smiled at Virginia and explained to Obadiah, “I happen to have a good friend in that splendid Mrs. Henderson, your neighbor.”