"Pardon me; but I remember you perfectly, Miss Kirkwood. I hope we may dispense with the formality of an introduction—we old Montgomery people—and that sort of thing!"
Holton carried a stick, which was not done in Montgomery save by elderly men, or incumbents of office, like Judge Walters or Congressman Reynolds. His necktie also suggested more opulent avenues than Main Street.
"By the outward and visible sign upon the portal I assume that Mr. Kirkwood will return shortly."
He referred to his watch, absently turned the stem-key, and sat down in one of the chairs which Phil had lately dusted.
"I used to see you around a lot when I was a boy—you and your pony; but we've all been away so much—my sister Ethel and I. You know Ethel?"
"I've seen her," said Phil.
"We've just been breaking up our old home here. Rather tough, too, when you think we're quite alone. We've sold the old house; sorry, but the best offer I got was from a doctor who wants to turn it into a drink-cure sanatorium. Tough on the neighbors, but there you are! It didn't seem square to stand in the way of bracing up booze victims."
He expected her approval of this attitude; and Phil murmured phrases that seemed to fill the gap he left for them.
"Had to go to the highest bidder—you can hardly give away an old house like that in a place like this. Neighbors are kicking, but it wasn't my fault."
Phil said she supposed that was so.