light and faces eager and expectant.
Jarrod had no sooner located his family in a comfortable corner than he was attracted by a young man who sauntered by.
"Why, Jim, is it you?" he exclaimed, jumping up to hold out a hand in greeting.
The other paused, as if astonished, but then said in a cordial tone:
"You here, Mr. Jarrod?"
He was a tall, athletic looking fellow, with a fine face, a straightforward look in his eyes and a clean-cut air about him that was pleasant to behold. Jarrod had recognized him as the only son of a man he had known in St. Louis—a man very prominent and wealthy, he remembered.
"What are you doing here, Jim?" he enquired.
"Why, I live in Chicago now, you know," was the reply.
"You do?"
"Did n't you know, sir? I left
