“Call your child off,” said Phil to Nell. She laughed. “Come, precious, don’t bore your father.” Junior did not know what that new word “bore” meant, but he released his father and transferred his demonstration to his mother. She never seemed to get too much and did not object to sweet fingers. “Mamma,” said Junior as they started off in the car, “I don’t believe that man in front likes me.” “He adores you, darling; he’s your father.” Well, it sounded reasonable, but he remembered the new word. That evening when they came home the dogs, not having been allowed to go on the picnic, thought it was their turn and jumped up on Phil with muddy paws. Junior took command of the situation and of the new word. “Down, Rex!” he said to the sentimental setter. “Don’t bore my father.” And he pulled Rex away by the tail. At bedtime, when the nurse came to bear him off, he raised his arms to Phil. “Can I bore you now?” Phil laughed and kissed him good night. “Funny little cuss, isn’t he?” said Phil. “He’s a very unusual child,” said this very unusual Mother. “Unusually ugly, you mean.” But he couldn’t get a rise out of Nell. “Oh, you’ll learn to appreciate him yet.” Shortly before Phil left for his next trip the paternal passion had its way with this reserved father, for once. Some little street boys, as they were technically classified by the nurse, had been ordered off the drive by Junior, who was playing out there alone. They did not like his aristocratic manner and rolled him in the mud. They were pommelling him in spite of his protests, when Phil heard the outcry and, getting a glimpse of the unequal contest from the library window, gave forth a shout that made the intruders take to their heels, the infuriated father after them. As he raced down the drive he saw the wide-eyed animal terror on his child’s face and it aroused within him an animal emotion of another kind, one he had never felt before, though he had often seen it exhibited by wild beasts--usually the mothers. It was a lust to destroy those two little boys, to render them extinct. He might have done so too; but fortunately they had a good start, and by the time he caught up with them civilization caught up with him sufficiently to make him realize what century he was living in. So, with a few vigorous cuffs and an angry warning, he hastened back to his bleating offspring, recognizing with astonishment and some alarm how near blind parental rage can bring a man to murder. Junior was not so much damaged as his white clothes were, but his childish terror was pitiful. He rushed into his father’s arms and clung, quivering. Phil held him close. “There, there, it’s all right now. I won’t let anybody hurt you.” Without realizing it, this fastidious father was kissing an extremely dirty face again and again. Junior, still sobbing convulsively, clung closer. “You’ll always be on my side, won’t you, Father?” “You bet I will!” said Phil. “You’re my own darling little boy.”