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Mr. Van Buskirk came smiling toward his wife and putting his arm around her drew her to the window, while he, too, looked out upon the results of the storm. Philip Van Buskirk Senior was a little above average height, well built but not heavy. He did not possess the dark eyes which were characteristic of so many of the Van Buskirks, but blue ones of the unfading blue type, passed on to Cathalina. His hair was beginning to show grey threads, but he looked active and well, and his air was that of the well-poised, successful business man who is accustomed to carry responsibility. His face was rather serious, refined, and just now very tender; for dear as his children were to him, Sylvia had always stood first.

“As soon as you have rested a little, I would like to talk with you about an important matter.”

“I am rested now. Bath, shave and clean clothes always rest a man, that is,—well, do not expect me to do any talking. I’ve been closeted, at different times today, with half a dozen men,—each one trying to put through some scheme.”