I'm on a vacation, the first I ever had, and not keen upon business, by any means.

In the meantime, let me show you some figures." Five minutes later, Billy Westlake and his sister and Miss Hastings drew up to the edge of the group.

Young Westlake stood diffidently for two or three minutes beside Mr.Turner's chair, and then he put his hand on that summer idler's shoulder.
"Oh, good evening, Mr .-- Mr .-- Mr.--" Sam stammered while he tried to find the name.
"Westlake," interposed Billy's father; and then, a trifle impatiently, "What do you want, Billy ?" "Mr.Turner was to go over with us to the bowling shed, dad." "That's so," admitted Mr.Turner, glancing over to the porch rail where the girls stood expectantly in their fluffy white dresses, and nodding pleasantly at them, but not yet rising.

He was in the midst of an important statement.
"Just you run on with the girls, Billy," ordered Mr.Westlake.

"Mr.
Turner will be over in a few minutes." The others of the circle bent their eyes gravely upon Billy and the girls as they turned away, and waited for Mr.Turner to resume.
At a quarter past ten, as Mr.Turner and Mr.Princeman walked slowly along the porch to turn into the parlors for a few minutes of music, of which Sam was very fond, a crowd of young people came trooping up the steps.