"By George!" Mr. Schofield exclaimed. "Where IS old Joe?"
Margaret intervened. "You mean that tall, pale man who was
calling?" she asked.
"Pale, no!" said her father. "He's as flushed as--"
"He was pale when _I_ saw him," Margaret said. "He had his hat
and coat, and he was trying to get out of the front door when I
came running downstairs. He couldn't work the catch for a minute;
but before I got to the foot of the steps he managed to turn it
and open the door. He went out before I could think what to say
to him, he was in such a hurry. I guess everything was so
confused you didn't notice--but he's certainly gone."
Mrs. Schofield turned to her husband.
"But I thought he was going to stay to dinner!" she cried.
Mr. Schofield shook his head, admitting himself floored. Later,
having mentally gone over everything that might shed light on the
curious behaviour of old Joe, he said, without preface:
"He wasn't at all dissipated when we were in college."
Mrs. Schofield nodded severely. "Maybe this was just the best
thing could have happened to him, after all," she said.
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