"Well, Jigs, there you are."
"Oh, thank you. Say——"
"Well?"
"Aren't you going to have an individual photograph?"
"No, of course not," said Stover with only outward gruffness.
"All the fellows are crazy for one, sir."
"Run along, now," said Stover with a pleased laugh. He stood on the steps, watching the elated Jigs go scudding across the Circle, and then went into the Kennedy. In his box was a letter of congratulation from Miss Dow. He read it smiling, and then took up the photograph and examined it more critically.
"She's a dear little girl," he said. "Devilish smart figure."
Miss Dow, of course, was very young. She was only twenty.
That night, after an hour's brown meditation, he suddenly rose and, descending the stairs, knocked at the sanctum sanctorum.