The Visioning | Page 7

distinctly disapprove of having some one coughing in the room
upstairs and not being satisfied who the some one is!"
She leaned forward, pointing her spoon at him earnestly. "Wayne, they
say there are some excellent nerve specialists in Chicago. I'd advise you
to take the night train. Take the rifle along, Wayne, and find out just
what it's done to you."
"That's all very well! But if you'd been reading the papers lately you'd
know that ideas of house-breaking are not necessarily neurasthenic."
"Dear Wayne, lover of maps and charts, let me take this pencil and
make a little sketch for you. A is the chamber above. In that chamber is
Nora. Nora coughs in parting. Then she parts. B is the back hall through
which Nora walks. C is the back stairs which she treads. Watts being
waiting, she treads--or is it kinder to say trips?--with good blithe speed.
D is the side door and E the side porch. Now I ask you, oh master of

engineering and weird mechanical and mathematical mysteries, what is
to prevent Nora from getting from A to E in the interval of time
between the coughing and the viewing?"
Prescott laughed, but Wayne only grunted and ominously eyed the
chimney place.
"There!" he cried, triumphantly on his feet before his sister, as again
came the faint but unmistakable little cough. "A little harder to make a
map this time, isn't it? Talk about nerve specialists--!"
He started for the door, but Katie slipped in in front of him, and closed
it.
"Don't go, Wayne," she said quietly; queerly, Prescott thought.
"Don't _go?_ Kate, what's the matter with you? Now don't be foolish,
Katie," he admonished with the maddening patronage of the older
brother. "Open the door."
"I wish you wouldn't go," she sighed plaintively, arms outstretched
against the door. "I do hope you won't insist on going. You'll frighten
Ann."
"Frighten _who?_"
"Ann," she repeated demurely.
"Ann--_who?_ Ann--_what?_"
"Ann _who!_ Ann _what!_ That's a nice way to speak of my friends!
It's all very well to blow up the world, Wayne, but I think one should
retain some of the civilities of life!"
"But I don't understand," murmured poor Wayne.
"No, of course not. Do you understand anything except things that
nobody else wants to understand? Ann is not smokeless powder, so I
presume you are not interested in her, but it seems to me you might tax

your brain sufficiently to bear in mind that I told you she was coming!"
"I'm sorry," said Wayne humbly. "I don't seem able to recall a word
about her."
"I scarcely expected you would," was the withering response.
"Tell me about her," Captain Prescott asked sympathetically. "I like
girls better than guns. Has Ann another name? Do I know her?"
Katie was bending down inspecting a tear she had discovered at the
bottom of her dress. "Oh yes, why yes, certainly, Ann has another name.
Her name is Forrest. No, I think you do not know her. I don't know that
Ann knows many army people. I knew her in Europe." Then, as they
seemed waiting for more: "I am very fond of Ann."
She had resumed her seat and the critical examination of her coffee
spoon. The men were silent, respecting the moment of tender
contemplation of her fondness for Ann. "Ann is a dear girl," she
volunteered at last.
"Having had it impressed upon me that I am such a duffer," Captain
Jones began, a little haughtily, "I naturally hesitate to make many
inquiries, but I cannot quite get it through my stupid and impossible
head just why 'Ann' is hidden away in this mysterious manner."
"There's nothing mysterious about it," said Kate sharply. "Ann was
tired."
"And why, if I may venture still another blundering question, was poor
Nora held responsible for a cough she never coughed?"
Once more Miss Jones surveyed the torn ruffle at the bottom of her
skirt. She seemed to be giving it serious consideration.
"I am glad that I do not live in the Mississippi Valley," was the remark
she finally raised herself to make.
"One of Kate's greatest charms," Wayne informed Prescott, "is the

emphasis and assurance with which she unfailingly produces the
irrelevant. Now when you ask her if she likes Benedictine, don't be at
all surprised to have her dreamily murmur: 'But why should oranges
always be yellow?'"
"I am glad that I do not live in the Mississippi Valley," Kate went on,
superiorly ignoring the observation, "because the joy of living seems to
be at a very low ebb out here."
"Honestly now, do you get that?" he demanded of his friend.
"Ann and I had planned a beautiful surprise for you, Wayne."
"Thanks," said Wayne drily.
"To-night Ann was tired. She did not wish