When
the last workman was gone with his tools; and the two men, after looking
about the place for an hour, were standing on the front porch; Conrad
Lagrange said, "And the stage is set. The scene shifters are off. The
audience is waiting. Ring up the curtain for the next act. Even Czar has
looked upon everything and calls it good--heh Czar?"
The dog went to him; and, for some minutes, the novelist looked down into
the brown eyes of his four-footed companion who seemed so to understand.
Still fondling the dog,--without looking at the artist,--the older man
continued, "You will have your things moved over in the morning, I
suppose? Or, will we lunch together, once more?"
Aaron King laughed--as a boy who has prepared a surprise, and has been
struggling manfully to keep the secret until the proper moment should
arrive. Placing his hand on the older man's shoulder, he answered
meaningly, "I had planned that _we_ would move in the morning." At the
other's puzzled expression he laughed again.
"We?" said the novelist, facing his friend, quickly.
"Come here," returned the other. "I must show you something you haven't
seen."
He led the way to a room that they had decided he would not need, and the
door of which was locked.
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