When Cameron came in at midnight he found his wife and his old friend Willoughby Crane playing chess in the dining room.
"Hello, Joe, old man," murmured Crane. "That you?"
"Why, yes, I believe it is I," said Cameron.
"Almost forgot what you looked like," Crane rambled pleasantly.
"Dropped in for a reminder."
"I'm sorry to have missed you," muttered Cameron.
"Well, you haven't altogether missed me, you know: so cheer up, old man. If Nell's good for a rubber, you may have the joy of my presence for an hour or two longer. You're lucky, having a wife who can play chess!"
"Get yourself a drink, Joey," suggested Nellie. "The whisky's in the sideboard, down on he left."
"Don't you suppose I know where the whisky is?" demanded Cameron.
"Maybe there's not much left." Nellie looked on, all solicitude.
Cameron, his thought babbling over the good old days of the
ducking-stool, poured himself carefully a highball that was brown.
Silence reigned. The light fell upon the head and shoulders of
Crane and his long, quick-fingered hands.