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"And now I suppose she sports real Mechlin on her cap," assented Hunter, anxious to show how perfectly he caught the situation. Varian had roared helplessly. "Cap? Cap!" he had moaned finally. "Oh, my sainted granny! Cap! My poor fellow, your view of Binghamville must be like the old maps of Africa in the green geography, that said 'desert' and 'interior' and 'savage tribes' from time to time.
"I have letters to write I keep up with a good many old friends in Binghamville and Albany, where I lived with my married niece ten years, till they moved West. I loved her children; I half brought them up. One died; I can't seem to get over it " Her eyes filled, and she made no effort to cover two tears that slipped over. Varian took her hand again. "I know about that I know!" he said softly.
"You don't mean to say they have waitresses in Binghamville now?" Varian had despaired of giving him any idea. "Come over and see Mrs. Dud," he had urged, "and do her portrait. We've moved on since you left us, you know. She's a wonder she really is. When you remember how she used to carry her father's dinner to the store Saturday afternoons "