"And you let me knock and call and bring up Courtland. Oh, by Jove, it’s _too_ much!" "I’m very sorry," said Polly gently. Eddie didn’t even look at her. "I’m sick of this!" he cried. "Sick of being made a fool of like this. It’s always the way in this house; every hand’s against me. Nothing but deceit and trickery!" "Eddie!" said Polly firmly. "You forget yourself!" The poor chap, recalled by her tone to his standard of propriety--the very fount of his exploitation--became a little quieter. "No," he said, "I don’t. Where did he go?" "To New York," said Mrs. Russell. "He had a bag with him. Courtland drove him in." Eddie turned suddenly upon Courtland. "Why didn’t you tell me he wasn’t there?" he demanded. "How did I know he hadn’t come back?" retorted Courtland, smartly. "Where did you leave him?" "Corner of Broadway and Forty-Second Street," said Courtland, and, with his unquenchable impudence, he added: "But you won’t find him there now!" "That’ll do," said Eddie. "You can go. And don’t gossip about this." Courtland wheeled about briskly and began, quite leisurely to descend the stairs, whistling cheerfully and loudly before he was well out of sight. Eddie did not even appear irritated. He had turned toward the two ladies of his household with an ominous look in his blue eyes. Eddie was incredibly generous, he was kind-hearted and more or less sympathetic, but he had in him, all the same, the making of a first-class domestic tyrant. He desired, almost morbidly, to be respected, and he was ready to force respect by bullying, if necessary. He knew what every one else knows, moral precepts to the contrary notwithstanding--that the bully is almost universally respected. Like all domestic tyrants, he was shamelessly deceived and "managed" by the women of his establishment. They managed him clumsily. Neither of them had learned what the doctor had learned at once--that Eddie could be manipulated with ridiculous ease by the employment of either of two means. One was to appeal to his sense of justice; the other was deferentially to ask his advice. He liked to argue, to discuss, to weigh, to do finally, not without pompousness, whatever he saw to be right; but the women never addressed this vulnerable side. They treated him still as if he were a primitive man, to be coaxed, hoodwinked, pampered, in spite of the fact that he was not primitive in any way. He got along splendidly in his office, because there it was acknowledged unanimously that he was not to be diddled, that he was no fool; but at home he was always treated as if he were a fool, and a slightly dangerous one. That is, of course, the accepted attitude toward any master of any house, but it is not always the most effective. His anger began to ebb away as he looked at them, and a profound dejection to take its place.