Tom Farrell, Senior, came from the bathroom presently, stroking a long, new-shaven chin. His eyes were narrowed sociably, and his mouth, as he approached Daisy, was kinked up at the corners in what seemed to Betty Farrell's critical regard, almost an ecstasy of friendliness. He paused, with the hand of greeting half-outstretched; then, tetering his shoulders a little, glanced first at his wife, and from her to Jimmy, interrogatively. "Somebody introduce me," interpreted his wife, with considerable warmth and sarcasm, "or I'll go crazy." "Daisy, meet Brother Tom," interposed Jimmy, diplomatically, as he saw a flash of temper in the glance Tom Farrell darted at his wife. A husband of four years' standing will not endure being put out of countenance before a pretty girl. "Howdy," said Farrell, promptly; grabbing Daisy's hand and half for his wife's benefit and half because of Daisy's dimples, squeezing it hard and long; "howdy, howdy?... Say, Bet, what's that kid doing out of bed, this time o' night? Don't you know nothing at all? Get him back between them sheets, right away!" "Put him to bed yourself, if you're so keen about it," Betty Farrell retorted, hotly; "it was Jimmy brought him out here, not me. Why don't you take a round out of Jim?" "I said, put him to bed," Tom Farrell was losing his self-control as his temper rose, "and do it quick!" "Come along, Boy," said Jimmy Knight, genially, speaking into the ear of Tommy, Junior; then winking at Daisy as he jerked his head in humorous apology toward the point where Tom and Betty Farrell glared at each other across the centre-table, "we'll go and pound our ear, son. We don't need a house to fall on us, to show us we ain't wanted, do we?" He got up, young Tom in his arms, and moved toward the bedroom. "No, sir-ree!" Tom Farrell's long arm came out and scooped out of Jimmy's grasp the youngster, who started to cry; "it's got to be settled right here an' now who's boss of this establishment. I ain't goin' to let no woman run on me. Here, Bet--take this kid, and put him to bed like I told you!" The husband was now so far beside himself that he, for the moment, neither knew nor cared what impression he made. As he spoke, he held out the baby boy, who yelled and kicked vigorously. But Betty Farrell backed away, letting young Tommy dangle from his father's outstretched arms. "I don't have to take no orders from you," she said, putting her hands obstinately behind her back, "and I won't, not if you rave till you're blue in the face. I'll show everybody how much authority you have over me." At this, young Tom felt himself set down hard on a chair. Tom Farrell, having thus freed his hands, hopped ragingly across the room and slapped his wife on the side of the face. Betty, true to the color of her hair, flared up, looked about for something to throw, and swept her hand with temper's wastefulness toward the cut-glass vase in the centre of the table.