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Bob began to think that he had heard all he was to hear, and certainly he was no longer in doubt as to the character of the men he had followed. He had decided to go back to Betty when the older of the two gray-suited men, leaning back and taking off his glasses to polish them, addressed a question to Carson. "Widow own this place?" he asked casually. "No, couple of old maids," was the answer.
Further along, an ardent youth serenely disregarded photographic rules and pointed his kodak at a group of laughing girls who stood between him and the setting sun. As the boys left the park, they passed a group of gray-suited ball players, which had been using one of the park diamonds near the golf links. John watched them a minute. "Most time for our team to get together again," he said.
Gray-haired, gray-bearded, gray-suited, grayly dogmatic as a block of granite, the Senior Surgeon loomed up at last in the doorway. "I'm in a hurry," he growled. "What's the matter?" Precipitously Rae Malgregor collapsed into the breach. "Oh, there's nothing at all the matter, sir," she stammered. "It's only it's only that I've just decided that I don't want to be a trained nurse."
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