There was the slant of morning sunshine, the Florida smell of flowers and mold and warmth, the sleepy look of people around an airport at daybreak. They carried their own bags to a taxi and started for the Yates home.
When they reached the house no one appeared to be awake. Duff unlocked the front door. Scotty tiptoed in behind him.
From across the living room came the murmur of Mrs. Yates, “Who’s there?”
Duff was smiling. “Me and Scotty Smythe. A pal of his flew us down.” A hand-knit bed jacket, blue as her eyes, covered her shoulders. Her golden hair was disheveled and as she sat up she reached for a comb. “I’m a sight! I’d dropped off—”
“I’ll get you some coffee. Eleanor and the children asleep?” He waited for her nod and went to the kitchen.
When, after a few minutes, he came back with three cups of coffee on a tray, Mrs.
Yates had fixed herself up. She smiled tiredly at him. “It’s like you two boys to rush down here—”
“We were badly worried!”
“You needn’t have been. Not to this extent! I was telling Scotty about it. When Charles found Harry Ellings, we were upset, naturally. He’s been a member of the family for so long! He was so quiet — so nice! I don’t suppose we’ll ever find a boarder who will replace him.” She sighed. “He’d been ill, of course. His heart just stopped. His funeral is arranged.
Eleanor has been trying to get his friends together. There aren’t many.”