It meant thinking about his fees of course,
seeing to it that the work he undertook was profitable as well as
interesting. Only, declared the man who was not Rose's husband, it was
senseless--suffocating! Rodney tried, with an athletic sweep of his
will, to crowd that train of thought out of his mind as, with his hand,
he had swept the papers that gave rise to it.
He leaned his elbows on the cleared blotter and propped up his chin on
his fists. The thing exactly in front of his eyes was his desk calendar.
There was something familiar about the date--some subconscious
association that couldn't quite rise to the surface. Was there something
he had to do to-day, that he'd forgotten? No, Miss Beach would have
reminded him of anything except a social engagement. And he distinctly
remembered that Rose had said this morning that the evening was clear.
And yet, surely ... Then, with a grunt of relief and amusement, he got
it. It was his birthday! Another mile-stone.
Where had he been, what had he been doing a year ago to-day? It would be
interesting if he could manage to remember.
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