Either Harwood had sought in the wrong places or Morton Bassett was of tougher fibre than the other gentlemen on whom his pencil had conferred immortality.

In response to his ring a boy opened the door and admitted him without parley.

He had a card ready to offer, but the lad ran to announce him without waiting for his name and reappeared promptly.
"Papa says to come right in, sir," the boy reported.
Dan caught a glimpse of a girl at the piano in the parlor who turned to glance at him and continued her playing.

The lad indicated an open door midway of the long hall and waited for Harwood to enter.

A lady, carrying a small workbasket in her hand, bade the reporter good-evening as she passed out.