CHAPTER VII INTRODUCING SPUNK In the soft April twilight Cyril was playing a dreamy waltz when Bertram knocked, and pushed open the door. “Say, old chap, you'll have to quit your mooning this time and sit up and take notice.” “What do you mean?” Cyril stopped playing and turned abruptly. “I mean that Will has gone crazy, and I think the rest of us are going to follow suit.” Cyril shrugged his shoulders and whirled about on the piano stool. In a moment his fingers had slid once more into the dreamy waltz. “When you get ready to talk sense, I'll listen,” he said coldly. “Oh, very well; if you really want it broken gently, it's this: Will has met Billy, and Billy is a girl. They're due here now 'most any time.” The music stopped with a crash. “A--GIRL!” “Yes, a girl. Oh, I've been all through that, and I know how you feel. But as near as I can make out, it's really so. I've had instructions to tell everybody, and I've told. I got Kate on the telephone, and she's coming over. You KNOW what SHE'LL be. Dong Ling is having what I suppose are Chinese hysterics in the kitchen; and Pete is swinging back and forth like a pendulum in the dining-room, moaning 'Good Lord, deliver us!' at every breath. I would suggest that you follow me down-stairs so that we may be decently ready for--whatever comes.” And he turned about and stalked out of the room, followed by Cyril, who was too stunned to open his lips. Kate came first. She was not stunned. She had a great deal to say. “Really, this is a little the most absurd thing I ever heard of,” she fumed. “What in the world does your brother mean?” That she quite ignored her own relationship to the culprit was not lost on Bertram. He made instant response. “As near as I can make out,” he replied smoothly, “YOUR brother has fallen under the sway of a pair of great dark eyes, two pink cheeks, and an unknown quantity of curly hair, all of which in its entirety is his namesake, is lonesome, and is in need of a home.” “But she can't live--here!” “Will says she shall.” “But that is utter nonsense,” cut in Cyril. “For once I agree with you, Cyril,” laughed Bertram; “but William doesn't.” “But how can she do it?” demanded Kate. “Don't know,” answered Bertram. “He's established a petticoat propriety in you for a few hours, at least. Meanwhile, he's going to think. At least, he says he is, and that we've got to help him.” “Humph!” snapped Kate. “Well, I can prophesy we sha'n't think alike--so you'd notice it!”