A Fool There Was

by Porter Emerson Browne

"Is he?"

Elinor nodded, nonchalantly.

"Yes, that floating palace of his dropped anchor about ten minutes ago.
They were lowering a launch as I came downstairs."

"Oh!" cried Muriel, excitedly dropping the roses to the lawn. "There he is now! I can hear him winding up his boat!"

She rang at headlong speed through that arbor way. Another moment and Blake had entered, carrying her in his arms. Kathryn extended her hand to him; he took it in warm, firm, friendly clasp. Elinor nodded.

"'Lo, Tom," was her salutation.

"'Lo, Nell," he returned. "You're getting fat."

"The same to you, and many of 'em," she replied. "Have a good time?"

"Oh, the same old sea-saw." He shrugged broad shoulders. "This running a sailors' boarding house isn't what it's cracked up to be. We hit a three- day executive session of a northeast storm off the Banks that kept us exceedingly busy. Everyone on board was seasick—except the cook."

"Tom," interrupted Kathryn, "I wish you'd come into the library a moment. My lawyers have sent me some papers to sign and return, and I can't make head nor tail of them."