"
"Did you see him?"
"Yes; he's a average-sized fellow with a smooth face and brown hair."
"Would you know him if you saw him again?"
"Sure. I'll keep an eye out for him. But you've got to leave it to me. I
can handle the situation all right now, if you just won't butt in."
"If you can get Rose to promise not to see him again, she'll stick to it;
I can say that for her."
"She won't see him. They've quarreled, I tell you. I heard her balling
him out good before he left. The whole thing is settled, and all you got
to do is to button up your lip and go to bed."
A week later Papa Claude announced that Harold Phipps was at last
released from his onerous duties in the army and had returned to his home
in Chicago, where he would in future devote himself to the writing and
producing of great American plays.
CHAPTER 18
In everybody's life there are hours or days or even weeks that refuse to
march on with the solemn procession of time, but lag behind and hide in
some byway of memory, there to remain for ever and ever. It was such a
week that tumbled unexpectedly out of Quin's calendar about the first of
June, and lived itself in terms of sunshine and roses, of moonshine and
melody, seven halcyon days between the time that Eleanor returned from
school and the Bartletts went away for the summer.
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