"Why, nothing; he's just visiting.

It's Sunday, you know." "Oh--is it ?" Billy bent over the basin, hiding his face from her.

"I didn't know; I'd kinda lost count uh the days." Whereupon he made a great splashing in his corner and let her go without more words, feeling more than ever that he needed time to think.

"Just visiting--'cause it's _Sunday_, eh?
The dickens it is!" Meditating deeply, he was very deliberate in combing his hair and settling his blue tie and shaking the dust out of his white silk neckerchief and retying it in a loose knot; so deliberate that Mama Joy was constrained to call out to him: "Your dinner is getting cold, Mr.
Boyle," before he went in and took his seat where Miss Bridger had placed him--and he doubted much her innocence in the matter--elbow to elbow with the Pilgrim.
"How's shipping coming on, Billy ?" inquired the Pilgrim easily, passing to him the platter of roast beef.

"Most through, ain't yuh ?" "The outfit's on the way in," answered Billy, accepting noncommittally the meat and the overture for peace.