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“The way things really are—” he said, “that’s never good enough for Uncle Charley.”

The edginess increased. “Anything he’s mixed up in—he’ll fancy it up in his dreams till it’s the most glorious thing he ever heard of.”

“That sounds like a nice way to be.” Her own tone, in involuntary response to Robert’s, was mildly argumentative.

“It’s a lousy way to be,” said Robert harshly.

“I don’t see why,” said Nancy.

“The poor guy bets his life again and again and again on things that are just—” he shook his head wildly, “just nothing at all! Nothing!”

Robert’s bitterness startled Nancy, dismayed her. “Don’t you like him, Robert?” she said.

“Sure I like him!” said Robert loudly.

Robert’s tone was now so harsh, so worldly, so alone and unromantic, so unsuitable for a wedding day, that it was like a slap to Nancy. After an instant of shock, she could not hold back her tears. The tears were few, and unaccompanied by sound—but there they were in plain view, twinkling on the rims of her eyes. She turned away from Robert.

Robert turned red. His hands worked the air cumbersomely. “Sorry,” he said.

“You sound so mad,” said Nancy.

“I’m not,” said Robert.

“You sound that way,” said Nancy. “What did I say wrong?”

“Nothing—nothing to do with you,” said Robert. He sighed. “You about ready?”

“No,” said Nancy, “not now—not after crying.”

“Take your time,” said Robert.

Ned Crosby, the innkeeper, looked old. He was still at the table for two with Charley in the bar. He had been unable to wheedle his old friend out of taking a drink. With each new line of argument, Charley had become more radiant with the glamour of his plan.

Ned stood, and Charley looked up at him with amused affection.

“Going?” said Charley.

“Going,” said Ned.

“I hope I’ve put your mind at ease,” said Charley lightly.

“Sure,” said Ned. He managed to smile. “Prosit, skoal, and mud in your eye,” he said.

“Join the boy and me in a drink, Ned?” said Charley playfully.

“I’m tempted,” said Ned, “but I’m scared to death the world wouldn’t cooperate.”

“What could go wrong?” said Charley.

“I don’t know, and neither do you,” said Ned. “But it’s an awfully busy world out there, full of fast-moving people with big, fancy ideas of their own. No sooner would we get that first drink down, counting on a perfect day, and somebody would come crashing in here and say or do exactly the wrong thing.”

At the end of this speech, Ned intended to take Charley’s drink away from him. But he wasn’t quick enough. Before he could do it, Charley was on his feet, his glass on high, saluting Robert, who stood in the doorway.

In three brave, highly ceremonious gulps, Charley drank the drink down.

Nancy Holmes Ryan watched Charley do it through the small opening between her husband’s shoulder and the door-jamb. The opening widened now, until Nancy was framed alone in the doorway. Robert had gone to his uncle’s side.

There was a third man with them, frowsy, worried. The third man, of course, was the innkeeper, Ned. Of the three men, only Charley looked happy.

“Don’t worry—” Charley said to Robert.

“I—I’m not,” said Robert.

“I’m not starting on a binge,” said Charley. “I haven’t taken up drinking again since you’ve been gone. This is a special drink.” He set the glass down with melodramatic finality. “One—just one. One drink, and that’s the end.” He turned to Ned. “Have I shamed the Atlantic House?” he said.

“No,” said Ned quietly.

“Nor am I going to,” said Charley. He motioned to the chair facing him. “Sit down, person,” he said to Robert.

“Person?” said Robert.

“What I’ve been guarding for twelve solid years,” said Charley. “What’ll you have?”

“Uncle Charley—” said Robert, starting to introduce Nancy.

“Sit down, sit down!” said Charley heartily. “Whatever we’ve got to say to each other, let’s say it in comfort.”

“Uncle Charley—” said Robert, “I—I’d like you to meet my wife.”

“Your what?” said Charley. So far, he hadn’t noticed Nancy at all. Now, when Robert nodded in her direction, Charley remained sitting, looked at her blankly.

“My wife,