“Not a drop,” he agreed, rolling his eyes heavenward. Then he quoted incorrectly. “‘Water, water everywhere, and not a drop to drink.’ That’s what the good and honest men did to politics. They fixed it so that there isn’t anything in the country to drink except booze.” “Nonsense!” exclaimed Mr. Sage. “Tell me how you came to go to the assistance of Mrs. Bannester and her sister—tell me everything,” said Jane, resuming her seat on the step. “There isn’t anything to tell,” said Oliver. “I just went out to see them and—that’s all there is to it.” “Oh, indeed!” she scoffed. “You just went out there and said ‘howdy-do, ladies; here’s a couple of thousand dollars—and good-by, I must be getting home.’” “I stayed for dinner,” he admitted. “They always have fried chicken and white gravy when I go to see them. And waffles and honey. I’m very fond of honey.” “Don’t you want to tell me, Oliver?” There was a hurt note in her voice that shamed him. “Well,” he began awkwardly, “I’d been thinking about it for some time—their troubles, I mean. I couldn’t stand seeing them kicked off their place. I had the money, and I didn’t need it. So I—I made ’em take it. Yep—I just _made_ ’em take it. They were awfully nice about it. If Uncle Horace ever finds out that I lent them the money, he’ll—” He broke off in a chuckle of sheer delight. His eyes were full of mischief. “I’ll never forget the time I let him have it with my marbles. Gee, it was great!” “Wouldn’t it be glorious if we could always stay young and throw marbles at the people we don’t like?” cried Jane. “The only drawback is that sometimes you can’t find the marbles again. I lost two of my finest agates that day.” “You young savages!” exclaimed Mr. Sage, with mock severity. He said good night to Oliver and, murmuring something about next Sunday’s sermon, entered the house. They heard him go slowly up the stairs. CHAPTER XIV JEALOUSY WITHOUT LOVE “Did you notice, Oliver, that he spoke of my mother a little while ago?” “Did he?” “Certainly. You must have heard him.” Oliver was silent. He was wondering how long that strange, unaccountable blur had lasted. “It was the first time he has spoken of her in years,” she went on, her brow puckering. “It seemed to slip out when he wasn’t thinking, when he wasn’t on guard.” “It slipped out because he was thinking, Jane,” said Oliver. “That’s just it. He is always thinking of her. What was it he said?” She told him. “I wonder if I remind him of her in lots of ways,” she mused. Oliver’s thoughts leaped backward a score of years and more. “I used to think she was the most wonderful person in all the world,” he said. “I was very desperately in love with your mother when I was six or seven, Jane.” He hesitated and then went on clumsily, almost fatuously: “I am beginning to think that you are like her in a lot of ways.”