Rantoul

"The trouble with painting to-day is that it has no point of view," cried Rantoul, swallowing an egg in the anaconda fashion.

"Clyde is becoming quite a power in Wall Street," said Mrs. Rantoul, with an approving smile.

He remembered the old friendship in the starlit garret of the Rue de l'Ombre, and, learning Rantoul's address, wrote him.

Twice during the meal Rantoul was called to the telephone for a conversation at long distance.

When their steps sounded near, Mrs. Rantoul rose hastily, spilling her silk and needles on the floor.