"He hasn't been in town much lately and he was only here for an hour this morning. But he'll be back in a few days."
"I'm sorry," said Fred, "not to see him to-day."
Just what business he had with her father she could not imagine; but she was sorry for his trouble, whatever it might be. In her recent reflections touching the Holtons she had not thought of Fred at all; nor did it occur to her now that he was in any way concerned with the Sycamore difficulties.
"Miss Kirkwood—"
"Well, Mr. Holton, if you will be real nice, I'll let you call me Phil. I met you before I grew up—that night I danced in the cornfield. The moon introduced and chaperoned us, after a fashion, so we'll consider that you belong to the earlier period of what might be called my life. That was my last fling. When I came home that night I was a grown-up. How do you like that, Fred?"
"More than I care to say!" And his face lighted.
He realized perfectly that knowing his diffidence she was trying to make things easier for him, just as she had at her party. Phil was wondering whether she dared ask him to go to the Bartletts' with her for luncheon.
"It's lonesome, Phil, not having anybody to talk to about your troubles. There are times when we've got to lean up against advice."
"They say I never do much leaning," Phil replied. "My aunts say it. There ought to be a place like a post-office where you could poke in a question and get the answer right back; but there isn't."
"Our folks are in a lot of trouble, according to the papers," said Fred. "That's what I wanted to see your father about."