Quin | Page 5

of red on the lips,
a dash of powder over the whole, sleeves turned back, neck turned in,
resulted in a poster effect that was quite satisfactory.
Of course the Martels had heard of Quinby Graham: his name had
loomed large in Cass's letters from France and later in his conversation;
but this was the first time the hero was to be presented in person.
"What's he like, Rose?" asked Myrna, arriving breathlessly with the
chafing-dish. Myrna was twelve and seemed to labor under the constant
apprehension that she was missing something, due no doubt to the fact
that she was invariably dispatched on an errand when anything
interesting was pending.
"Don't know," said Rose; "the hall was pitch-dark. He's got a nice voice,
though, and a dandy handshake."
"I bid to sit next to him at supper," said Myrna, hugging herself in
ecstasy.
"You can if you promise not to take two helps of the Welsh rabbit."
Myrna refused to negotiate on any such drastic terms. "Are we going to
have a fire in the sitting-room?" she asked.
"I don't know whether there is any more wood. Papa Claude promised
to order some. You go see while I set the table. I've a good notion to
call over the fence and ask Fan Loomis to come to supper."
"Oh, Rose, please do!" cried Myrna. "I won't take but one help."
Cass, in the meanwhile, was making his guest at home in the

sitting-room by permitting him to be useful.
"You can light the lamp," he said, "while I make a fire."
Quin was willing to oblige, but the lamp was not. It put up a stubborn
resistance to all efforts to coax it to do its duty.
"I bet it hasn't been filled," said Cass; then, after the fashion of mankind,
he lifted his voice in supplication to the nearest feminine ear:
"Oh! Ro--ose!"
His older sister, coming to the rescue, agreed with his diagnosis of the
case, and with Quin's assistance bore the delinquent lamp to the
kitchen.
"Hope you don't mind being made home-folks," she said, patting the
puffs over her ears and looking at him sideways.
"Mind?" said Quin. "If you knew how good all this looks to me! It's the
first touch of home I've had in years. Wish you'd let me set the
table--I'm strong on K. P."
"Help yourself," said Rose; "the plates are in the pantry and the silver
in the sideboard drawer. Wait a minute!"
She took a long apron from behind the door and handed it to him.
"How do these ends buckle up?" he asked, helplessly holding out the
straps of the bib.
"They button around your little neck," she told him, smiling. "Turn
round; I'll fix it."
"Why turn round?" said Quin.
Their eyes met in frank challenge.
"You silly boy!" she said--but she put her arms around his neck and

fastened the bib just the same.
How that supper ever got itself cooked and served is a marvel.
Everybody took a turn at the stirring and toasting, everybody
contributed a missing article to the table, and there was much rushing
from kitchen to dining-room, with many collisions and some upsets.
Quin was in the highest of spirits. Even Cass had never seen him quite
like this. With his white apron over his uniform, he pranced about,
dancing attendance on Rose, and keeping Myrna and Edwin in gales of
laughter over his antics. Every now and then, however, his knees got
wabbly and his breath came short, and by the time supper was prepared
he was quite ready to sit down.
"What a shame Nell's not here!" said Rose, breaking the eggs into the
chafing-dish. "Then we could have charades. She's simply great when
she gets started."
"Who is Nell?" asked Quin.
"Eleanor Bartlett, our cousin. She's like chicken and ice-cream--the rich
Bartletts have her on weekdays and we poor Martels get her only on
Sundays. Hasn't Cass ever told you about Nell?"
"Do you suppose I spend my time talking about my precious family?"
growled Cass.
"No, but Nell's different," said Rose; "she's a sort of Solomon's baby--I
mean the baby that Solomon had to decide about. Only in this case
neither old Madam Bartlett nor Papa Claude will give up their half;
they'd see her dead first."
"You did tell me about her," said Quin to Cass, "one night when we
were up in the Cantigny offensive. I remember the place exactly.
Something about an orphan, and a lawsuit, and a little girl that was
going to be an actress."
"That's the dope," said Cass. "Only she's not a kid any more. She grew

up while I was in France. She's a great girl, Nell is, when you get her
away from that Bartlett mess!"
"Does anybody know where